


Oh, Yuri

by neauxzi (yuuriyuu)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Ballet, DJ Otabek Altin, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky Friendship, Lilia could put the fear of god into Yuri if she wanted, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, Otapliroy, Real Men Wear Tights, Sexual Tension, Singer Jean-Jacques Leroy, Slow Build, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Unreliable POV, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Victurio if you squint, Wingman Mila Babicheva, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, but don't squint because that's not endgame, in various forms, lots of pining, mulling over a blow job scene, otabek is a closeted mess for reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuriyuu/pseuds/neauxzi
Summary: "It's okay. I think that it's good to be ever eager, but don't forget your discipline. Lilia taught you that, right?" Victor pets his arm softly with the back of his hand. "You don't seem so forlorn lately, though. That's nice.""Forlorn?!" Yuri exclaims, glaring at the attention his voice attracts over the sounds of Paul Hindemith's music. "That's fucking pathetic-""I know, you were like a kicked puppy a few months ago," Victor sighs, but the amusement is clear in his voice. In the upturn of his mouth. "Like Makka, when I had to get her spayed after that incident with that mongrel at Summer Garden. She just wasn't herself for a little while either."
Relationships: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Jean-Jacques Leroy, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 24
Kudos: 51





	1. cry baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this fic as it has caused me great stress and many sleepless nights
> 
> the Victurio chapter is like a prologue of sorts ;)~ also, no beta here, so if anything's wildly off...don't be mad at me, I'll come back for it lol
> 
> (I haven't been sold on a summary at all, so please don't side eye me if it changes every 3 days ///

January

There is one barre set at the center of the room.

Victor stands at it. En pointe, first position. He moves to second. Yuri can see him in his entirety through the glass panels at the centers of the double doors. Victor's drawn all the drapes for the orange tint of a too early morning to filter into the room. The light brings color to his winter pallid complexion of white.

Yuri rolls his eyes hard enough that there's a twinge of pain behind them. His lip is red from the pressure of his teeth. Lilia's supposed to be here, but Lilia is nowhere in sight and hadn't even alerted him to the change in plans. This is where they always meet, at 7am, because Yuri negotiated her down from 6. 

"What the fuck, Lilia."

His words come as a whisper. The hall is empty, the dance rooms are too. Only the thump of Victor's feet and the heat in the vents can be heard.

He digs off his shoes with the heels of either foot, wet at the soles from the snow outside, and leaves them by the door before he shoves into the room.

His haste brings noise to the studio, disrupting the calm. Victor's eyes remain closed and his position doesn't waiver. In only black tights against his unblemished skin that, make him seem even more pale than he is during a winter in Russia, he looks statuesque. A shadowy figure standing beyond the reach of the light cast across the floor.

For a moment Yuri waits to be acknowledged in his drama. He huffs and cocks a hip and he gets nothing for it because Victor likes to set the pace of things. All the fucking time.

His coat is hot and too heavy for the stuffy room. His tights are, well, tight. Pulling annoyingly under his jeans. They're open toed under his socks, so that's freeing. His hair is still damp at the roots under his slouched hat, having no time to dry it after his shower.

Seeing as he thought Lilia would be here, ready to chew him out for being late, insulted by his inability to show the respect of even being on time. He rushed and instead, here is Victor. Saturday mornings are their thing and he likes for Lilia to mentor him. Sometimes she slips up and calls him a prima, but it's because she's not used a boy taking pointe with her in the last hour of their schedule.

Lilia's difficult, but he can't decide if having Victor's here this time is better or worse. Victor gets under his skin like a splinter that just sink in the wrong way and eventually skin grows over it. Eventually embedded deep enough you have to hurt yourself to get rib of it.

Also, Yuri likes for his Saturday practices to be productive in the manner that a large class can't allow. How is he supposed to focus under the supervision of Victor's annoyingly talented, and won't let you forget it, ass.

"Where is Lilia?" Yuri says, accusingly, but Victor's done nothing to her.

"She's not here," Victor says, plainly. He looks at Yuri through the mirror and drops off his toes.

"Duh. The building's a fucking ghost town, but why are you here?"

"Because Lilia asked me to be." 

Victor's smile is taunting. 

"You did really well for Nutcracker this season. I'm glad I got to see the first show before London." 

Yuri was content, at the time, with that fact that Victor saw him once. Not so much that afterward he left for a vacation with his not so secret, dancing Japanese boy toy. To London. Yuuri comes back early, as he still has to dance. Yuri doesn't bring it up though. He does wonder if Victor ever means to mention him outside of the context of social media.

"Thanks," Yuri says, monotone and less than thankful. He saunters to a bare side of the room, narrowly eyeing Victor with clear enmity. "And you're going to instruct me?"

The bag slips to the floor with a dull thud. His coat follows. Then he's stripping out of his jeans and crouching to pull out his point shoes, jazz shoes and some flats before shoving the denim into his backpack and pushing the thing up against the wall.

Victor turns, finally breaking his position to look at Yuri. The feigned confusion clear on his face. "Well, who else would, Yuri?"

"Is that an insult or are you just stroking your own ego?" Yuri snorts. "Where's Lilia?" He asks again.

"You'd have to ask Yakov as I have no clue." 

His smile falters and suddenly he's thin lipped and narrow eyed and Yuri's flat look goes awry. Victor's looks are enough to make his spine tingle. A horribly uncontrollable reaction he just has.

"Come now, Yuri, don't be so high strung. Besides, you still have plenty of progress to make if you ever want to be a professional."

Victor is an idiot, but he has a way of finding the will to be serious when it matters. When he wants to make a point. Especially when he wants to level Yuri a bit.

Yuri is silent for a moment, his mouth agape and his brows furrowed. He's not certain he was attacked or encouraged. The audacity of Victor. 

Yakov has no problems hounding Yuri. A constant reminder, like he should be because he's good fucking instructor. If Yuri's managed to go through adagio perfectly, then his face wasn't reading well and he needs to do it again. And Yuri does. And when he's tense and his bending isn't as bendy as it usually is- Yakov will tell him that too. Every damn time until he's perfect. And again just because.

Victor's tones changes and he's seemingly bubbly again.

“Really, I'm here to help!"

"Fuck off, Nikiforov." It's not so malicious as it is more of a stand to the dominance Victor won't be establishing. He can't let him establish, rather. It's hard to be subtle about how much Victor just does things to him. It won't work. Victor's got some kind of veil that just keeps anything Yuri says from really hitting him.

"You won't ever get the best opportunities being entitled in all the wrong ways, Yuri," he adds. "Even the best can improve. That wasn't an insult, I'm simply saying."

Because he was exceedingly average at the academia portion of his education. But to be on the wrong side of exceptional at the performing aspect was...painful. Victor's messing with him, Yuri knows that much. Still, he's never certain how else to respond.

Yuri stomps to the barre with bare feet and the taps of them on polished, hardwood floors are insultingly soft. Gripping along the area besides Victor's hands and moving to mere inches from his face. 

There is a moment before he speaks that he actually looks into Victor's gaze, studies his eyes and knows that the honesty he sees in them unhinges him the most. He growls every word with a malice that washes off Victor like he's said nothing at all.

"If anyone is entitled here, it's you." 

Except, Victor's entitlement has substance. It's earned. One day, they'll compare him to Mikhail. Yuri likes Nureyev better anyway.

His shoes swing and jerk between them, knocking Victor's thighs and Yuri's hips. He has to look up at him to hold his gaze, get to his toes if he wants it head on, but Yuri's already struggling to keep calm here. Does his anger actually serve as a good cover up for all the times he tries not to blush? And when he blushes anyway, can there even be an excuse?

"And I didn't ask for your help," he says through clenched teeth.

Victor tsks him and tugs the ribbons through Yuri's grip around the wooden barre. His movements are slow and incautious. Lifting and caressing around Yuri pale fingers to coaxes him.

"Everyone knows you're extremely talented. But so is everyone else. This is St. Petersburg after all."

Victor shrugs. Yuri knows as much.

Victor crouches down to handle his shoes. Yuri can see the top of his head. His hair. It sways as he moves. His hair, so blonde it's nearly a shade passed white. He's so content. So unfazed it's intimidating. Being half a foot shorter, Yuri knows he's lucky Victor hasn't tousled his hair yet like some child.

He wonders if Yuuri has to put up with this in his own lessons. He probably wouldn't even mind it.

"Is this your way of motivating me? Because it's not working, asshole."

Yuri's burning inside. Victor fingers are specially made to press his buttons.

Victor's hands cup around this calves, fingers pressing his skin hot through his tights, and lifts his feet off the ground. Yuri, with labored will, gives Victor his limbs to work about without too much fuss.

His shoes are slipped on slow, the fabric of the ribbon crossing back and coming forward and back again. The thin hair at his nape raises and Yuri holds all the air in his body still as Victor works. Victor's fingers linger at his ankles, caressing his feet as unnecessary soft as Victor can before his touch is only a left over warmth. Somehow Victor knows how tight his shoes need to be to feel just right and it makes him feel even worse. Like a child who can't get their way, and settles under certain manipulation to take what's offered to them. How is he so good at that?

"I'm going to make you great too." He pat at the top of Yuri's unwrapped foot. 

He counts the seconds Victor spends at his feet and squeezes the barre so hard he can feel his pulse in his hands. 

"Too? Who are you, to make a claim like that yet?" It's a pointless dig at him.

Victor smiles up at him with a haughty look in the small tug of a corner of his mouth and the curve of smiling eyes. Like Yuri isn't practically about to combust from frustration.

Yuri glares down at him almost painfully. His feet aren't wrapped, nor has he stretched yet. He shouldn't have point shoes on, of all things, right now.

"We never start with pointe."

Though, Yuri's still bitter. but Victor being a principal to the dance company gives his opinion some bearing. He's not putting Yuri's shoes on because he wants him to wear them now, he trying to mess with him. Fluster him.

"Just seeing how they fit, Yuri."

"Whatever. What are we doing?"

"Well, we're going to stretch first, of course."

"Duh." Yuri sticks out his tongue and his eyelids flutter as he rolls his eyes painfully hard.

"Oh, don't be a child." Victor takes to pushing the barre aside and Yuri drops a hip with crossed arms. He comes back to Yuri and crouches before him once more to pull loose the ribbons of his shoes. Yuri eyes him with a snarl. 

Yuri's brows furrow and he scrunches his nose and Victor backs away from him, grasping the barre behind himself. He nods to the floor and Yuri gets the point. He nudges his shoes to the side. He bends forward and grasps his ankles. His hamstrings and the backs of his knees stretch easily.

Yuri sits and says nothing. He bends left, arms outstretched above him with hands together. His eyes meet Victors and he holds a straight gaze. Bends right and then left and then down to his ankles. Touches them and hold the position.

Hands planted in front of him, he tests his muscles in short bursts forward. Back straight, hips open, pulling. Falling back to sit up and lifting his legs forward, parallel to his torso, one by one.

"Good boy," Victor says. His leans against the barre.

Yuri rises. grab his ankles and holds them to his ass one after the other. Then lets his feet slide their opposite ways. He sinks until his pelvis is as flat as it can be. As flat as he can get into a middle split, considering he does have a dick despite popular opinion. His chest is on the floor. His hair splay out wildly as he rests his head against the marley. Victor gaze is most definitely on him, but that's the nature of this business. He's gotten used to being ogled by people much less important, who had nothing to teach and only the intention of taking him in.

He stays there for a while. Feeling out the stretch. It doesn't help the tightness of his throat or the churning in his stomach, but it burns well enough to distract him from it. Victor is visible in the wall of mirrors he doesn't exactly stare into. He looks at nothing, but he can see it all. 

He thinks of Yuuri. Yuuri and Victor, a quiet room seemingly to themselves, but there's him on the other side of a wall.

January 

Yuri's not in the mood for today. He wishes he could sleep. Even at breakfast with Yakov, where they don't talk because they're both very grumpy morning people, but always up first thing anyway. Yakov don't fuck with him over the extra bit of carbs he eats and Yuri doesn't talk back when he rants about being prepared for this spring and finally being able to audition for an actual company. He's never as taunting and insulting as Yuri interprets Victor to be.

"Where'd Lilia go?" It dawns on him to ask when he remembers that Victor is his private teacher for the time being and he's not particularly excited about it. He's gotten through a whole week of ballet and school in between and still hasn't inquired, though he thinks of her frequently.

"Ah, she's away. She's been working too much, and now that Don Quixote has finally ready, she's taken her break. She'll be back by February," Yakov says after a long sip of his coffee.

"Okay, so why can't I practice with you and not Victor?"

"Because I've taken on her responsibilities for the time being, Yura."

Yuri rolls his eyes and groans. "Fucking great."

When he gets to the academy that morning Victor has resistance bands with him.

The human sized, blue elastic is the bane of Yuri's existence. Victor latches it around the arch in Yuri's foot and pulls for him until his needle is straight.

Yuri bends, his back in and his leg raising slowly to ease into the pull.

He uses the barre to keep steady with his own weight until he's sturdy enough to hold himself up. Victor's too close, right in front of him to guide his leg straight. His knuckles dig into Victor's abdomen, trapped between him and the barre. Victor stretches his legs forward a little more and Yuri breathes as his limits are stretches. He's fine for now, though. This is okay.

"Are you in pain?" Victor asks, looking into his face with actual concern. Yuri lifts his head and bites his lip through the slight burning in his gotdamn hips while Victor stretches him farther. His chest is inches from Yuri's face. Yuri's chest nearly rests on the barre and his back arches in quite far. 

He's fine. This particular stretch isn't even the worse. They're too close though and Yuri can't focus like this. Occasionally, he'll look at Victor and his mind wanders. He never sees Victor often at all since he's been dancing in every show he possibly can and spending all his time at the theater. 

Yuri wonders if he still thinks of him as a child. Sometimes, he thinks of that other Yuuri and well, he has his suspicions. Mostly of whether he likes being this close to Victor too.

"No," Yuri mumbles.

"Discomfort then?" Victor sighs, laying a hand over Yuri's pointed foot, high above his head.

"How much before it's acceptable to hit you?" He snaps

"I don't think you should measure your pain that way." Victor smiles. He readjusts himself to hand the band off to Yuri. Yuri groans under his movement, tugging a little tighter. 

"Can you hold it?" Victor asks, tugging the band down a little passed Yuri's eye level.

"Fuck- Okay-" Yuri lifts a hand off the barre, his torso turns out a bit and Victor uses one hand to keep him straightened out. Fingers digging into his waist and pulling. He's trying to keep his balance from tilting so at least he doesn't fall on Victor. The floor would be fine in comparison.

Yuri has the band, is pushing his legs forward until it's bending passed straight, but somehow it isn't enough

Victor tsks.

"Maybe try stall bars instead," He says, coming around the barre and laying his hand over Yuri's hip. "Yakov might actually kill me if I injure you."

Victor obviously notices the small grimace that settles over his face. Even as Yuri tries to fold his lips and crease his brows to keep from groaning. His hands are out, positioned to grasp Yuri's thigh, just above his knee, and guide his leg to the bar enough for Yuri to take a breath and then lower it himself.

"Once you're able to hold it, it'll feel good." Victor hums.

Standing splits. Yuri fights the heat on his face as he moves, letting his hair fall about to help his cause. "Just what I need," he mumbles.

His eye roll is over exaggerated, but Yuri stomps to the stall bars nonetheless.

"It's an advantage." Victor's voice is higher than normal. "You know most boys struggle with such a level of flexibility-"

"Can you do over extended standing splits?."

"Oh no, I'm not that bible. I just thought that you'd be capable of it."

He's at the barre again, arms crossed. His arms are always cross when he's challenging Yuri and Yuri knows it, but he's the student here and lashing out the way he normally would would be his very own loss. 

"I am capable of it," Yuri insists. He knows he is, but he can't relax like this.

"Yakov really doesn't push enough, he's often too cautious with you. I just thought you could definitely get in a little farther."

Lilia does though. Yuri likes working with her more than either of the men because she's calm and stern and every criticism out of her comes from a place of honest truth, not because she knows he's pissed about something or being nosy about some aspect of his life and assumes it's because he's obsessing over god knows what. She's grounding, and all things are left at the door when she's instructing anyone.

The stall bars are a little better at least. They allow him to control how much resistance is exerted on his muscles and lift out of it if he needs too without catapulting his too far stretched leg if the form is one he can't hold on his own He can sit into a stretch for as long as it's unnatural to his abilities.

Yuri brushes his hand down the bars until he finds a height he's comfortable with, one he can surely bend to. His finger clasp around it behind him.

"I will fucking do it. Now come on."

Victor moves none. "Do you really need my help?"

"What," He starts, narrowed eyes hard on him. His stupd crossed arms suggest he feels like being an asshole. As he often does. "Stay over there then."

He does it all while staring at Victor's dumb ass heart shaped smile.

He's trying to push just a bit further when Victor makes some noise, Yuri can't tell what it is while his arms quiver a little and Victor is kind of very far from his mind.

"What?!" He demands.

"You're reminding me of the one of the girls on the Russia Gymnastics team!" He claps with enthusiasm and walks fast to Yuri's side.

"You're annoying. Why are you fucking with me!?"

"Stop talking so much, you need to breathe. And I meant," he chuckles, adjusting Yuri's legs for him to lift into a needle. Crouching, he steadies Yuri other leg. "That I thought you wouldn't go so far. You can hurt yourself like this, Yuri."

Yuri settles out of his bend as Victor kneads into his thigh. His grip on the bars loosens and his hands move to grasp Victor's shoulders. 

"You're actually better at this than I thought, though," He says from below, drumming against Yuri's legs with his finger tips. "Let's get back to the resistance band. Other leg this time."

January

Yuri's not angry. He's not really angry, just...avoidant. seeing Victor means he has to feel things he'd rather just not.

Though, as time passes, he's not as on edge. So, at least there's that.

Lilia's apparently in Moscow and Yuri wishes she's had just taken him with her because that way they could dance, he could see grandpa and he'd be away from school for a nice break too. Of course, she and Yakov don't tell him because they don't want to hear his bitching. That's surely it.

However, whatever makes him do stupid shit like forget to wrap his feet and just wear his toe sleeve as if it's cushioned is just stupid.

It's a painful normalcy, but Victor hisses softly when Yuri pulls his ballet flats off.

"Yuri."

There is little blood crusted to the front of his toes and worn bandages peeling on his ankles from the friction inside his flats when they're finished. When Victor thinks he's done well enough. Yuri groans into a crouch and all but throws himself to the floor. 

It's the ugly part of dancing. It a real shame how much his fucking feet hurt sometimes. No one really knows all that goes into making a jump look flawless until they see the mess that a dancers' feet can become. 

Getting used to placing your weight on a central point, on your toes, and dancing just takes a fucking lot out of you. He's no exception. 

He gets it the worse on the back of his ankles because his ankles are too fucking bony and his regular shoes rub them raw sometimes. He keep bandages and tissues there for measure. All the time. They peel off in the shower on a regular basis because they're such a second nature now, he simply forgets.

In the ever cliche words of some dead person, maybe, that Lilia uses so often for them now, beauty is pain. And maybe it has some truth, but Yuri can only roll his eyes every time he hears it. It's routine now to hurt all over sometimes. Yuri likes the ache. The pulsing in his muscles is always the best. But is it really beautiful?

How could getting your eyebrows plucked for showers and breaking toes every once in a while for dancing be equated with something as basic as "beauty is pain?"

Or is he just psyching himself out because, really, how can he be beautiful en pointe? Misaligned toe bones and strained feet. As a boy?

He's exhausted and he’s mostly to blame because no matter how tired he gets he keeps coming back. Victor serves to keep the adrenaline going when Yuri is supposed to be able to maintain control.

"You should have wrapped your feet properly before."

"I'm fine," Yuri groans. throwing the arm he used to hide his face from the lights above to his side. "I'll do it. I just forgot."

Running on little sleep, Yuri doesn't have the energy for a verbal fight. If Lilia was here she would have told him to get out and come back when he wasn't coming off a long night or focus himself like he has no worries outside of the studio. If he wanted a career that is.

Victor digs through the cabinet by the entrance anyway, where Lilia keeps everything from bandages to nail clippers. Because ingrown nails hurt like a bitch and they shouldn't be ignored.

"Don't be so careless, hm?"

Yuri lays still, up on his elbows while Victor hums at ointments and bandage boxes. There's a small outline of sweat at the small of his back where it arches. He looks serene moving about so slowly. His face is soft and yet Yuri has a perpetual glare, that fluctuates in terms of intensity, reserved for Victor in any case. Victor puts him on edge and he can't help it no matter how frequently it happens.

Yuri swallows promptly at the sight of his tapered waist and the way his long legs make Yuri think of touching them. The way Victor takes it upon himself to touch Yuri.

Something is off about today. Victor being soft and attentive is a lie that Yuri can't help but to blame on that other Yuuri.

Yuri watches him until he's on his knees and pulling his feet into his lap one after the other to bandage them for him. Not even a grimace at pulling worn band aids off his ankles, or the little specks of blood on his toe sleeves that ultimately end up in Victor's fingers. He shifts Yuri around gently to position him just right.

He’s being too careful. Too aware of Yuri. He can't be dejected and yielding when Yuri’s supposed to be trying to work through some shit on his own. Other people's feelings put him in moods.

When their eyes meet, Victor smiles. It's small- a simple curve of the corners of his mouth- and Victor holds it for a while. Even through Yuri's weak scowl from a tired gaze..

"You know how important it is to take care of your feet, Yuri."

Ignoring him, Yuri shrugs. He flinches as Victor's fingers curve into the arch below his right foot and starts twirling the wrap around. Nearly pulls away until Victor pauses and eyes him. He continues and Yuri settles. His elbows flatten back to the floor and he throws his head back, hair splaying out wildly on the marley. 

"Eh, I'll be fine. Doesn't even hurt."

It's really not that bad. He's lucky, or maybe it's actually because he hasn't been a real working dancer yet. He's been in ballets through by the school mostly, as a kid at real theaters. 

Victor's everyday life is spent in the theater. He wonders what Victors' look like. If Yuuri has similar problems. If Victor rubs his fucking feet with a smile after practices like some servant. If he rubbed his feet like more of a devoted spousal affair.

"I'm starting to think you like pain." His amusement, the short chuckle, is fake. Yuri doesn't miss it because it's in his eyes.

Yuri pulls back up to his elbows and frowns at the man before him. “What the fuck is your problem?”

His eyes cast down and he watches Victor's hair, the side not tucked behind his ear, falls to frame his face, brushing his cheek bones as his head tilts. The slightest bit of blue is visible through eyelashes Yuri can see well now and narrowed eyes on a relaxed face. He's so easy when he wants to be. So relaxed even as he makes Yuri frantic.

“Where’s the motivational lecture?”

"Yuri."

He gulps. It's hard to swallow because his throat feels a bit tight. Everything's starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. Victor looks up when Yuri can feel the way his fingers tenses up brushing the soles of his feet. Over the lines and the roundness of his heel. His touch gets considerably light and it tickles fiercely. Yuri wants to crawl away, but he's stuck.

“Fuck, Victor, I know how to take care of myself.”

"Yura," Victor says softly. “I won't be dancing anymore. I decided that I want Don Quixote to be my last.."

Well, that's worse than he expected. Yuri can't imagine Victor even knows the reaction he could prompt with an announcement like that. Or maybe he does?

“What?”

His confession is like static. The hair on Yuri's neck rises. He launches off the floor straightening his elbows to sit his weight on his ass. Had he actually heard him right? Victor's definitely speaking Russian and Yuri definitely understands it.

“You can't just quit, what the fuck are you saying?”

“Yuri. I've been think a lot about it."

When Victor stops, brushing his palms over Yuri's ankles and patting, Yuri hops up quickly because he's flushing and his eyes slick over moist. Sure that if he sees Victor look at him like that one more damn time he's going to flip shit. 

Like he'll be okay. Victor looks at him as if Yuri will be just fine and he knows that for now he’ll only lash out. A method to maybe sooth Yuri’s flaring mood, but Victor should know Yuri doesn’t give a fuck about being sentimental when he’s pissed. 

The acceptance on his face boarders too close to defeat and Yuri doesn't fucking like it. Victor is supposed to be in this for the long haul- he was fucking groomed for it. For christ's sake! What is he doing?

“You wanna quit now!? You're not allowed to fucking quit!"

He huffs and gets to his feet quickly. The supplies between them goes everywhere.

Victor's lips part, but he speaks nothing. He does reach for Yuri, attempting to slow him from his rush to gather his things. Yuri doesn't have the patience for him to get his thoughts together, so when he turns to snatch out of Victor’s grasp it’s only to stare. Words don’t manifest between them in the time it takes Yuri to pull away. Victor looks and looks and then he sighs. Yuri can’t possible listen to it.

"After Don Quixote ends, I'll-" Victor says just as Yuri’s on his way out of the door, regardless of whatever is bound to come out of his mouth. In his tights and barefoot, Yuri pays him no heed.

January 

The first time Yuri met Victor, he was trying his hardest not to meet anyone. It was after a dance show for the graduating class doubling as a welcome ceremony for incoming students. A very warm welcoming. Yuri happened to be one of those new students.

He sat alone and surrounded in the front row, dead middle seat, next to a dozen other kids, but they hardly talked to him. Maybe he scared them away with his scowl? Who knows.

He listened to their excited chatter and all their hopes voiced into the air like wishes to be granted. Always sounding like attempt to one up the other. He didn’t like their accents and he scowled to keep from crying because his grandpa had to stay in a section further back with the parents of prospective students. They were so all so fucking happy. 

Every time he sat up to look around his eyes met Yakov's and each time it felt less and less right to be there. His grandpa couldn't pay for this school. He was only fucking 8, but Yuri knew that much. Looking at the other kids and at their parents and at the faces of the dancers, he knew it easily. He'd been blonde like a lot of them, with greens eyes and an aura of seriousness intertwined with his youth.

But unlike many of them, the fire in his eyes is molded by sheer spite and determination.

The show was nice, but it probably would have been nicer if Yuri's eyes weren't wet and glaring half the time. He wasn't like those other kids. Yakov found him in some dingy corner of Moscow in Ballet classes he excelled in because he wasn't sure when he wouldn't be able to afford to go next.

For a reasons Yuri could never put into many words at all, it was all he wanted to do. Damn if his grandpa didn't do everything he could to keep him there.

Victor appeared somewhere between him finding Yakov and getting the fuck out of there. Yuri could tell who he was by the time he started counting how many people had stopped him to have pointless small talk and congratulate him. He could tell that Victor was special. He didn't know his name, but Victor had the longest hair and the most amazing heart shaped smile.

Yakov scolded him like it was a routine thing. Told him not to steal the spotlight from the graduating dancers. Tells him not to influence Yuri when he bends at the knees to crouch down and welcome him. Stupid blonde hair so fair Yuri could barely tell he had eyelashes as he talked. 

"Yakov doesn't let us have any fun here."

It wasn't until after his first class that Yuri decided he didn't care about who else stands at the barre with him, he'll be better than them. All those spoiled and entitled little fuckers. He was already better. And they'll know his name. And if they don't they'll fucking learn it. He'll be like Victor. 

"And if you do really well, he'll never stop hounding you."

Yuuri probably felt all the same to a certain extent. How could you not want to be like the guy who became a principal at just 25. Golden boy, Victor.

Yuri's not 8 anymore and Victor isn't 21. He's 31 and he scolds Yuri regularly.

"If you're going to be a brat, Yuri, then you should be the best brat in your class."

Yuri glares at him through the mirror. Switching out his trainers for his ballet flats, tying his hair half up and tucking the ponytail into a bun, and taking off his t shirt for the tight fit tank top underneath- all with his eyes still centered on his...mentor.

"Otherwise, your attitude looks pathetic."

Victor shakes his head at Yuri's glare and then studies his own form in the mirror as if it's the only thing to be focused on. 

"Oh, fuck off," Yuri retorts.

When they began, Victor doesn’t make him do random shit as per usual- no, Don Quixote is finally playing at the theater, and Victor teaches him a section of his favorite variation and never brings up the fact that Yuri has no idea what he’ll be doing with his life come spring the whole time. Or that he won't be there to fuck with him about it anymore. Dancing is obviously the only option.

The change of pace serves well to distract Yuri. Victor tells him the story of Don Quixote while they work. Victor adjusts him here, calls for a higher leap there and claps when Yuri is exceptionally good at something. 

Yuri wonders, when he's silent, if Victor knows how much he pisses him off and puts him on edge. If he can fathom how much Yuri does actually enjoy it in the most unhealthy and obsessive way. If Yuuri appreciates his attention like he should. Yuri's not as thankful as he should be.

Yuri recalls his youth and wonders whether he is as determined as he was. If Victor's got a point. Maybe that's why he's so on edge. 

When their third hour is up Victor gets dressed again shamelessly.

"Well, Yura, I've got to get going. I'm meeting someone." Victor grins at him, but Yuri pretends not to see.

Yuri spreads out on the floor, close enough to the mirrors that he can study his own irises. He's surprisingly calm. His mind isn't spiraling. Still, he wouldn't say he's okay. He's is tired and frustrated, has been. Now, he's angry too. Dance takes a lot out of him, especially when he has to finish the calculus homework he's never going to understand afterward.

Victor put on his more appropriate clothes in the corner opposite Yuri's things. Dressing slow. Occasionally looking back to Yuri.

"Don't fall asleep. No one'll be here to open until Monday morning~" Victor teases. It doesn't plant as well as he hopes, obviously.

Yuri ignores him, his leg raised to flatten his foot to the mounted barre above him. Victor walks barefoot across the floor and crouches beside Yuri's head. Blond hair is just centimeters from tickling his toes. His elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms.

"Why are you so miserable, Yura?"

Yuri looks at him and he can't be mad. His hair folds under his head as he moves and his lip quivers. He's not gonna let himself cry, but his eyes are hot and he's resorted to scowling. He can't even say. How does he tell Victor the scramble of less than pretty thoughts and desires and jealousy that is his mind. The physical ache of not wanting to do anything. It's such a foreign sensation, he barely knows himself or how he could possibly have gotten here. This is why he doesn't want Victor around.

He does a lot and then he's gone. Like he's never been there anyway.

Yuri just needs to lie there for a little while.

Victor can probably see the something dying in him. Yuri can feel it and Victor's more intuitive than most people realize.

"Just go, I'm not gonna fucking sleep here." He turns over."Don't you have someone you need to see? Somewhere better to be?"

"You seem like you need someone too, Yuri."

February

For breakfast, Yakov makes blini.

Food doesn't typically make him happy on too early mornings when there's still work to be done ahead, but Yakov made them pretty sweet. Yuri's scarfing down his sixth when he takes notice of Yakov, coffee mug paused in pursuit to his mouth. 

"What?" He asks after chewing several times and swallowing. He doesn't normally eat through his emotions, but sometimes the desire to be in control does manifest in ways you don't realize. Why would Yakov make so many damn pancakes anyway if he wasn't supposed to eat them? Why would Yakov make pancakes at all?

"What is the matter with you?"

For him. Yakov was being nice. Yuri looks back at him and smiles. "Nothing." Yuri opts for a banana to top it off because fruits are important apparently.

He rolls his eyes.

Yakov still stares, drinking his coffee this time at least.

"Can you buy me a plane ticket?" He asks, mouth full of an overly large bite of a particularly small banana. "Please?"

"Where the hell would you be going?" Yakov sets his mug down and wipes exactly nothing off his face with his napkin.

"To see my grandpa." 

He hasn't seen Nikolai in months, and the last time they spoke was weeks ago. It'll be good to surprise him. It can't hurt his motivation these days either. He needs this. Just a few days and he'll be back to some kind of normal.

"You know he's old," he says, but in reality this is a ploy to escape. 

Yakov frowns at him. "I suppose Lilia wouldn't be upset with you for that reason, and I question whether you need all that time off from school."

Yuri blanches at the mention.

"How's Victor?" Yakov inquires, but he's not asking how Victor is, he's asking whether he's helpful or inspiring or whatever he expects Victor to be to Yuri. And maybe he has been all of those things, but it's not enough for Yuri to praise. And it doesn't matter because Lilia's back.

Yakov takes a large bite of his meal and looks at him expectantly. It inspires a fiery burn in the pit of his stomach. Yuri grimaces and drops the peel onto his plate, less than pleased. "He's Victor, and that's just about all anyone fucking needs him to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a long time I wasn't sure what to do with this. I wasn't ever gonna post it, then I was 5 chapters in for nothing and figured...why hold onto it???
> 
> plus, I feel it in my soul that Yuri on ice is coming back soon. it's so close guys, it is!! (I hope)


	2. princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do dancers not do it for you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, I won't call my son Yurio. Victor will, though. 
> 
> there will be Yuri and there will also be Yuuri. That extra U will always be INTENTIONAL :)))

February

  
  


Yuri opens his eyes to the brightest of sun rays cast over his face and pulls the blanket over his head to get just a few more moments of rest. 

It's a Sunday and the clock by his bed reads 07:23 am and that means he's only got a few hours left before he's got to be back.  
  
Nikolai makes breakfast simple. 

There is a cup of decaf coffee Nikolai prefills for him and Yuri finishes before even eating the lightly toasted bread he clears in just a few bites. All with narrowly closed eyes moist at the corners. Though, Lilia says he's big enough to need the energy and he's not even expected to adhere to the strict dietary rules anymore, Yuri doesn't like a lot of food in the morning. 

They're mostly silent as Yuri gathers his things.Nikolai's eyes crinkle over his cup of coffee. "You were here for a long time this time," he says through a sigh. It's somber and Yuri feels it even from the living room. Where he stuffs a bunch of shit in his suitcase and has to climb on top of it to close. The house is quiet outside of the news that Nikolai listens to religiously in his morning routine. Every damn morning. Putin's got some shit going on.  
  
"I know, I know. Life's not the same without me around, right grandpa?," Yuri taunts, head poked out far enough to see around the wall dividing the kitchen and the living room. He's got to be ready to go pretty soon. Each time he comes and goes he wonders how Nikolai passes the time without him here to get on his nerves. 

"Not as disruptive, no," Nikolai says. Yuri can hear their mugs clang as Nikolai collects them.

And he considers it even more when he realizes he's not the exactly the same stubborn kid that used to piss him off a little every day, all day.His suitcase is heavy and he's not quite tall enough to carry up at his side without it dragging the floor awkwardly and knocking against his ankles. He bought too much shit for his makeshift vacation, because god knows he didn't go anywhere to wear all that he packed. 

He surely didn't finish all of the work he was supposed to to make up for missing several days of classes.  
  
Adjusting it to roll once at the landing only to have his grandfather save him the trouble and pick it up with ease and a taunting smile.  
  
Yuri almost lets it go, but he's seen his grandfather groan and rub his spine long enough to know he's going to complain later. "Don't tease! What about your back?" 

He pulls the suitcase back.  
  
His concern is shrugged off, of course. His mouth closes at the wave of Nikolai's hand.  
  
Yuri's feet rest pigeon toed on the dashboard the moment they pull off. The handle for the window on the passenger side is broken from when he would play with it excessively as a child, so he can't roll it down to combat the heat that somehow still works in the old car.  
  
Nikolai drives slow as per Yuri's request. As if prolonging all aspects of his morning would do anything but make him miss his flight.  
  
"You'll be there in an hour?"  
  
"Yeah," He mutters. "Lilia made me get an early ticket because she wants me at practice bright and early tomorrow."  
  
"What comes next? What is it, now, principal?"  
  
Yuri sighs. "In April, I'll audition for a few companies and a principal is like, if I got promoted after they hired me. I won't be one right away.

"Oh, they had better," Nikolai barks. "What about that one theater, here in Moscow? You gonna try for that one too?"

"You bet I fucking am-" He cups a hand over his mouth and side eyes Nikolai, who taking every chance to glance off of the road and scold him with his stare. Yuri laughs when he remembers that he's not 8, but still Nikolai would give him the same look no matter what age.

Yuri tells him not to wait when they get there. That he'll be fine waiting in an airport terminal for an hour by himself. He spends a lot longer than that alone on a regular basis.  
  
Nikolai lifts the suitcase again despite his protests and walks him as far as just before the main doors. He's done this enough to know how it works.   
  
His hugs would always leave Yuri's feet knocking into his ankles because Nikolai's a tall man. Yuri didn't care as he's focused on absorbing so much of Nikolai's warmth that Yuri tucks his head under his chin and lets himself be young again. Except, Yuri can't exactly tuck his head under Nikolai's chin anymore, so they're ear to ear. He lets himself enjoy the gentle rock that the man done since he's been old enough to remember. It's comforting and enveloping and safe. Just a little embarrassing, but welcomed.  
  
"Thanks, gramps." Yuri smiles. It's painfully genuine and mostly out of character for himself these days even. But it's real. 

Nikolai laughs. His hand, always warm to the touch, are gripping into Yuri's parka and hugging him close. "I'll be a real dancer next time you see me."  
  
His grandfather deserves all that he can give him. Though his time in Moscow really does come to an end too soon, Yuri's not sure how else to say how appreciative he is of the man's patience.

  
  
  


February

  
  


Yuri doesn't know Yuuri Katsuki. Not really. For as often as he thinks of Yuuri and Victor, he's surprised he's managed to keep his inner turmoil to himself over the last couple of weeks.

He's seen Yuuri around, but only when he's at the theater. They're a cozy couple of fuckers. 

God, he needs some friends. 

Yuri's managed to alienate or offend a large portion of his class, but luckily, Mila's made it. She can see right through him and Yuri is thankful for it, though he'd never say so.

Yuri's fingers are grazing at a scab on his left ankle and his eyes are on the mirror, not watching anything in particular. His attention is in his head when Mila hands him a ziplock of almonds. She dangles it in his face until he finally notices. Yuri's brows knit curiously as he takes them. 

"Want some?" She asks.

“I remember when I first started pointe. I wanted to quit ballet entirely after the second class, but I was so excited at first. Like, first day! I had the shoes and my feet were literally tingling to just go." She nods to his feet. Revealing a pouch of supplies from behind her back as she sits.

Mila stuffs almonds into her mouth and grins around the mouthful, a hand over her face. They're both starving because this class is at an awkward enough time, it's easy to miscalculate how much time you have to find an early dinner. She must have got them before practice tonight because they taste fresh.

Yuri eats one almond at a time out of the pile in his palm. Taking in another before he finishes the one. It makes for a mess that he has to lick out of the crevices of his mouth, between his teeth. Making those suck and smack noises obnoxiously on purpose because he wants to annoy her a little. He keeps eating. Mila keeps talking. They keep eyes on one another and she pointedly ignores his obnoxious display with knowing stare.

The class is loud and waiting for instruction and with Mila's presence he can ignore everyone else. Just like he ignores the pinch of his dance belt. He can't avoid either and he's just gotta deal.

  
"Then, I did...and I hated it. I mean, I had some training before as prep, but a whole class?"

She has everything strewn out in front of them. There's athletic tape across his lap from as he wraps her feet for her, succeeding after about a dozen damn tries. Mila hates when the tape is loose after she's already began practice. Yuri will dance until they're falling off.  
  
In between tying the satin ribbons and shaking her red veiled head, Mila stop to wrap a hand around his foot, bound semi tight in everything they use as precaution. Her fingers drum into his metatarsals with square edges and french tips in a nude color, sanded down and stuck against her shiny and bare nailbeds.

A manicure she shouldn't have, but does because she's fearless and doesn't care about some risks. They prick at his skin a little. The fake tips extend her nails out and taper into a squared off tip and stab into his skin a little.  
  
"Yuri, I wanted to die,” her face straightens and she looks serious then, with a hard grip around his ankle. Yuri's eyes shift up to her face.

“You know how it feels, you can do pointe too.”  
  
"Dramatic,” he says through chewing. Though, it is hell and Lilia was pushy, he can agree.  
  
"From you, Yuri, I'm not even gonna acknowledge that. The point is, pointe sucks sometimes, y'know? It takes a special kind of defeat to give yourself to it.”  
  
"Then why are you even doing it?” It's been far too long for either of them to change their minds. “And, I think you mean blind dedication.”  
  
Mila _hmfs_ at him. She stands to her feet and takes a deep breath and looks at him.  
  
"Why do any of us do it?" She asks. She shrugs. Nudging his calve with her foot, Mila hums. "Why do you?”

“Because I don't have anything else to do?”

Mila’s going to be auditioning soon too. She’s already sure of it. She doesn't have the same reservations as Yuri, knowing full well how her life will go. She was raised that way. Her confidence is solid in that she knows she belongs here and she's never going to try to be anything she's not to prove a point. To herself or anyone else.

Yuri's glad to have her as a pairs partner because she sympathizes and never waivers with his bullshit. She said she kind of likes his pouty, mean ass and well, he's been here since.

“That can't possibly be it, Yuri."

Yuri's eyes roll under his eyelids. Shoving all the leftover nuts into his mouth and wiping the residue in his palms on his tights, he actually considers answering her. That would require looking into his feelings and being too honest. Way too honest for a bustling afternoon class with Lilia. Especially a pairs class. Especially when his literally answer would be that dancing is all he's ever done.

“Why hell not?” He says through clenched teeth.

Yuri double takes at his life damn often and one thing is for certain... There's never been any question of whether he loved it or not. At least, no one's ever asked. He thinks he does, and yeah, he doesn't have anything else to do.

Lilia saves the day just by entering with her heavy, presence that brings them to attention.

Yuri shrugs back at Mila as they get started, kicking their things back. Sprouting off the ground and treading away on pointed feet and soft thumps.

With her, Lilia has a pair of dancers come in and show them a few dances that she demands the student pairs perform as well.

Lilia makes them practice slow at first. She puts on Debussy; Because she loves dead composers, stresses about musicality and says they’re uncultured. 

She made him listen when he was young, out of spite that all Yuri could recognize at first hearing was Balanchine and Tchaikovsky. And not even their best at that, just their most popular. Everyone knows Sugarplum Fairy. Even if unaware, they know it. Candy cane too. Lilia wouldn't have it.

The turn of seasons into winter was definition of exciting to his 10 year old self because it meant The Nutcracker wasn't far off. 

The Nutcracker isn't the lost lost exciting thing anymore. Pairs aren't exciting to Yuri either, but that never means he can escape the classes. Just like he can't escape Lilia's determination. 

Yuri twirls Mila with nimble and light touches of his fingers. Several times she makes the revolve until she bounds away in pirouettes and small leaps. Yuri does pas de chat in the other direction. Big jumps, grand allegro jumps, in a circle until they meet back in the middle. 

Yuri lifts Mila and then they part with a toss. 

  
  


February

  
  


You don't get many chances to prove your ability over your peers when everyone is talented and dead set on proving themselves constantly. When you do, Yuri knows, you've got to exploit it. Lilia may not be visibly receptive to showing off, but Yuri's learned quite well that the instructors at the school have very easily read faces. He'll never tone down his prowess to make room for others. Every ballerina knows that there's no room for two Claras in The Nutcracker. No room for two princes.

Lilia's opinions read in her mannerisms. Everyone is fucking great, but when you get the chances to be greater, you've got to take them. Victor would tell him that.

So he does. It's why Victor stresses his flexibility and why Yuri fights through it all the time. It makes his splits effortless. His jumps can expand the same, in a range of motion to rival any female dancer. His pirouettes are cleaner than anyone's and Yuri doesn't care what eyerolls he gets for doing an excessive number of them.

For the last couple weeks Yuri's been unable to practice without a single mention of auditioning from someone's mouth. Because dancing for a living is the ultimate goal here, right? What is the point, otherwise?

His peers are excited. Yakov mentions the future over breakfast. Lilia says she's sure he'll do just fine in anyone's audition. Yuri says nothing to any of it.

If anyone believes he's reluctant because he's afraid, well, they'd be wrong. He's not afraid of the future or auditioning. He'd surely be accepted into any company he wanted to dance for. It's vain and narcissistic, but true. 

But he's not the only narcissist. 

Victor's always around when Yuri least expects him to be.

Yuri uses the barre for leverage. To balance with a leg lifted out, moving through the air until it's behind him and pushing up until he feels his back bend inward and his legs part to a full 180. Toes pointed. 

He could push it further and get his foot on his head if he tried. Doing something semi amazing just to distract from feeling stagnant in the moment...like standing there and watching Victor glide into the room would feel.

Victor finds Yakov's side and plants himself there to observe the class. Yuri hasn't seen him in class since Lilia's returned to take over her commitment to molding him as best she can for 3 hours every Saturday morning.

Bending works until he takes a deep breath and feels the fire burn in his core. He does this too much for him to be fucking tense but lo and behold.

He sighs with a chest deep force. 

"Fuck."

But Yakov hasn't begun yet so Yuri keeps going. He breathes and points a foot. He's been stretching day and night and there absolutely fucking has been progress. He's dangerously close to overworking himself between dance, his will and fucking school. 

Toeing the line every time he takes some private instructions and when he dances alone too.

 _Cambré back. Watch the arms, watch your arms, Yuri- port de bras!_ Victor would mock him sometimes, when Yakov was busy, because he's had the freedom to roam and be audience to most of the school's happenings. 

Everyone just lets him do whatever the hell he wants. 

Yuri bends back, right into a bridge and Yakov would be pissed at this because it's unnecessary and he's perpetually convinced Yuri just likes to piss him off. Victor's right about one thing, Yakov is too cautious about Yuri pushing himself and it's because the other kids have systems and parents. 

Yuri opens his eyes and there's Victor, too close for rest, making light conversation with some kid just one row over.

He's such a fucking pain. 

Yuri physically feels his limbs twitch at the rough, overwhelming desire to hit him for being here. He's not supposed to be here. He's supposed to be done dancing already, as he's said so himself. 

Yuri rolls his shoulders when he stands and stairs pointedly over in the opposite direction. Wishful thinking that he could ignore fuck all though, because JJ is on his other side.

JJ's sights are turned on him too. With one leg raised back and a hand wrapped around the barre while the other holds his ankle, JJ, grins at him despite his attempt at being unapproachable. That shit eating grin of his spreads on his face like he's been waiting for Yuri to notice.

JJ is excited all the time, enough to capture Yuri's attention and steer his emotions in a much more familiar route of disdainfully curiosity. 

"You're so flexible, Yuri."

Yuri doesn't talk to JJ much, though JJ will willingly say whatever he wants to him. Yuri spends most of the time they are opposite each other on barre actively ignoring him and the rest of the class. He keeps a steady focus on Yakov, or whoever is leading the class, but somehow JJ gets other ideas when he's either staring over his head to gaze at the mirror or to the black roots of his ever shiny, head of loosely wavy hair. Ideas that make him talk to Yuri.

"Yeah," Yuri mumbles, "everyone is flexible." Except he has to be the best at it of course. 

His english is accented, but when he speaks slow enough he can fake an attempt at it not being. He doesn't care to do that, however.

Yuri crouches down, blinking up at JJ with a bored expression bordering annoyance, but JJ doesn't catch those kinds of hints. Or perhaps he just doesn't care, too nice to give Yuri shit back, but just annoying enough to keep going. 

The words between them, that never really escalates into entire conversations, are met mostly with glances and rarely does Yuri actually want to engage him. The genetic paragon bullshit that make up JJ's entire physical being could drive Yuri to kill. JJ's stupid long legs, larger build and pearlescent smile makes Yuri hate him. 

Yuri opens his legs and sinks until his thighs angle at 90 degrees from his knees and a biting 180 degrees and raises to his his toes. Lunges in each direction before grabbing the barre and bending to stretch his back. Forward. Victor's still talking to that other kid.

The tension won't go away and the Victor's presence doesn't help. May even be why. Probably, most likely, why.

"But you're like, perfectly bendable. Like a little ballerina"

Yuri whips his head around. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Eyes gather from off to the sides. Yakov is fairly close now, enough to glare at him.

Yuri rolls his eyes in response and Yakov deadpans. He glares immediately after.

JJ grins, and shakes his head once. "I keep wondering when you'll grow though. Maybe You're just meant to be 168cm all your life."

"Shut the hell up," Yuri tells him, brows knit to the bridge of his nose, "and don't wonder anything about me."

"You're just really good too." JJ finishes a beat later. His smiles are always so privileged. Deriding in a way. Yuri's never inclined to thank him as much as he is to roll his eyes and tell JJ to shove off. "I'm better though, princess."

"You wish you came close, jerk."

Yakov begins and room silences to the sound of pattering into positions. Yuri picks himself up in time for Victor to enter his space and nudge him. A carefree smile to sport and _chest out back straight…_ Yuri extends an arm and goes still. He's been trying to avoid this.

"Supposedly, there is a certain way boys should be taught dance than girls."

Victor's behind him. Yuri's not looking in the mirror, his eyes have already crossed the room to gently lay his head back and extend his arm like Yakov instructs. Victor pats his hand on the barre and then adjust his free arm up a bit.

"Their movements are more established. Techniques more robust. They don't finesse with look of their body lines and dainty elegant movement. Effortless in appearance, but hell on the body."

The lines blur as he finds that being the most slender kid in his class- the shortest as well- has an obvious way of drawing attention to what he looks like compared to his peers. That's likely what Victor's hinting at, but Yuri's well aware of it and doesn't need anymore reminders.

" _Supposedly_." He emphasizes. Yuri is proof that it's not true, he's saying.

Yuri won't talk back because he doesn't have time to be distracted, or rather, to give Victor the satisfaction of knowing he is. 

Knowing Victor though, it's hardly a response he's looking for. He just likes to bother him and knowing he has gives him some sick pleasure. Yuri can't fathom Victor thinks himself helpful.

Victor adjusts his chin up a bit, having lowerd to study Victor's placement of his arm. Yuri's eyes meet his for a second until Victor's head whips around and he's already leaving.

He moves on to correct the next kid, hand brush carelessly about Yuri's waist until he's gone, out of Yuri's space.

JJ snorts, and despite not facing one another, Yuri's red at the implications of whatever look he's giving him now.

  
  


February

  
  


The side door in the theater opens to a staircase that carries him up to the second floor. It also grants access to private box level one. Yuri goes out of curiosity, boredom and exhaustion. 

The dancers at the Mariinsky have a small party to celebrate the final showing of Don Quixote. It also doubles as his celebratory career memorial. Typically they don't invite people for these things, but it just made sense to make it a party, apparently. Everyone was already in a single place. 

Yuri tags along with Yakov because he has nothing else to do on a Friday night with all the peers he shuns.

After the audience leaves and the cast gets out of costume, they celebrate, right there on the stage.

His fingers twiddle with the stray threads that escape from the seams along his pants pocket. Follow the stitching until he’s just over the fabric. Slipping into the pocket to poke the hole sitting at the inner portion of his thigh. Yuri bites his lip and contemplates the urge to just go.

He supposes he's not exactly unhappy, but fun wouldn't be his initial description if someone were to ask how his night has been thus far. The place is still full of people. People and dancers and the mistresses and master of the theater.

He realizes how he must look, sort of pathetic, and tugs his hand from his pocket and his lip out of his mouth.

Sometimes he does things that can only be justified with masochistic reasoning. Deep down, he's gotta enjoy being mad at Victor enough to come to his stupid farewell shindig.

From beyond one of the balconies, he can see the stage. The curtains are parted just right that he can step into place, as if he'll enter, and see all the smiles and paired off, chattering groups.

"Not having fun?"

The voice carries low, like whoever this is wasn't actually going to say it. Yuri flinches. At first he cranes forward, head inside the curtain that frames the arching entrance into one of the balconies. Inside, Yuri moves forward a bit, and he can finally see the lurker that calls out to him.

Dark hair and olive skin, legs folded under him in the upholstered chair with deep red colored cushions. He's in all black and all Yuri can really see is his bottom lit face with dark features and only the light from his laptop around him. The theater is dim enough that the balconies aren't well lit at all right now. His clothing is just a mass of black from where Yuri stands.

"What?"

"It's a party, isn't it?"

"It's kind of purgatory," Yuri scoffs. Hangs his head and watches the rhythmic twitch of the boy's leather shoes, his feet bouncing under him. "I don't know why I'm here." 

He wraps his fingers around the velvet curtain and pulls it back enough to reveal himself. The takes it with him as he falls slightly into the wall next to him. His shadow spreads out on the floor, crossing the light of the hall.

"Do dancers not do it for you?"

"Do you actually care about dancing?" Yuri cocks one of his brows and stares accusingly. "Seeing as you're up here too, with a computer no less."

"I know who my distant colleagues are." There's a rise in the monotone pitch of his voice. Yuri can hear the small sound he makes when he says it. Like, _Hmm_. 

"I work here, with the orchestra." 

Yuri doesn't mean to stare, but the guy hasn't stopped looking at him for the two minutes he's been standing there. Obviously too comfortable with eye contact for Yuri's liking. Yuri doesn't mean to frown when he realizes how relaxed his face is, it's just an defense.

Yuri's head flips to the side hard, looking at the party below. When he looks back the guy's looking at his screen again. The guy's golden headphones have their own glare that Yuri notices in his peripheral. They really stand out against his hair and make his skin look sort of like it's glowing in the light of his laptop.

The notifications on his phone are muted, so he hasn't seen anything the locals and dance world has had to say about anything, let alone Victor's bullshit "stepping down".

"Are you a dancer as well?" the boy asks. Yuri takes another glance at him, his gaze focused on Yuri instead of the screen again.

Yuri huffs. He almost says _Aren't we all?_ He remembers then that no, they obviously aren't. 

"Yeah."

"Oh,” he smiles and it's small, but Yuri can see that it's genuine on soft features. "This must be bittersweet for you then." 

"Absolute torture."

Yuri finds Victor in the crowd. He's smiling so hard. He has been all night. At his side is Yuuri Katsuki, the dancer with the same name that Yuri knows Victor fancies a little more. He can see it from there, in the dark balcony with a boy he doesn't know and nothing else to do.

"You don't sound very convincing."

Yuri simpers. He doesn't know that half of it.

"Didn't intend to." 

This guy's obviously not Russian. Yuri can hear it in his voice too. His accent isn't bad, just different. His features are dark and he sort of looks vaguely Asian, but Yuri wouldn't pretend to be able to guess who he could be. Well, Russia is huge and there's the asian esque side of it, Yuri remembers.

He's too relaxed in his torso to be a dancer, so Yuri would have been surprised if he had said he was. He is dressed similar to the orchestra members now that Yuri's eyes have adjusted to the lighting. In a black button down and slacks. His shoes look expensive. His haircut is pretty nice too.

"I've never met anyone that didn't sing praises about Victor, assuming they know him."

"They don't know him, they know of him then," Yuri says. It's petty. This boy is not likely on the same page. He's talking about dance Victor. The Victor that captivates and inspires young dancers like himself. But it's hardly Victor's fault that Yuri may have…or, does idolize him a little too much...Perhaps..

"Do you?" The guys asks. "Know him?" He adds before looking up at Yuri again.

Yuri, having considered as much can't even say he does. Okay, they might be on the same page.

"Maybe I don't."

Yuri wishes he'd snagged some champagne before leaving the main event. A lot of it. He's never been drunk but the way he feels now seems like reason enough to give it a try.

He pushes off the wall. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see the guy next to him look as he moves to take a seat in the chair opposite him. Yuri flops down with a huff, kicks his feet up on the railing and sinks until his head is just below the backrest. His hair splaying over the cushion with some static and falls over the edges like silk. Some of it get stuck in uncomfortable pulls between him and the chair.

He swallows, looks at the wall on the other end of the atrium and counting balconies up to the third floor. The stage curtains are open and the stage serves as the party floor. He can see Mila chatting up Georgie, an apprentice in Moscow, that danced with them just last year. Here for whatever fucking reason but Piter is his original home. Yakov is scowling at someone Yuri doesn't know. Lilia has a quiet conversation with tall, too skinny women in the corner.

In the silence, he wonders if Victor calls him miserable because he just is or if it was because he was a thread away from bawling like a child. He wonders whether melancholy is a character trait that's as obvious as his hair being blond. Like a scent he carried with him.

Thinking about it, Yuri swears now that people just pay too much attention to mundane shit. No one should care that he doesn't want to fucking smile at them.

"-Otabek."

He was busy thinking. Distressing. Too occupied to really listen to the sound of the guy's voice. He turns quickly when he registers the sound over his mind.

"What?" 

"My name. I'm Otabek," he repeats. Lifting his headphones on a side. The side closest to Yuri.

"Oh." There's a pause until Yuri realizes it's polite to respond with your own name at that kind of gesture. He doesn't just meet other people like this after all. 

"I'm Yuri."

Yuri can see the movement next to him without actually looking. Twisting in his chair until his feet touch the floor again and he's sitting up straight. The sound of him typing is louder than the classical music playing from a speaker on stage.

Yuri drops his head to the side, watches Otabek with eyes cut to his right. He's not good at making small talk. He can observe people enough to fake it if he cares too. It's not a problem that they remain quiet though, he's more comfortable than he probably would've been on stage.

Victor's whispering into Yuuri's hair and gesturing to the empty expanse of chairs beyond the stage. And then to the levels higher up. Then he points to the balconies and for a second Yuri thinks he actually sees him. Yuuri's smiling. Differently than that pathetic, sheepish smile he always has. 

Yuri wants to know what they're so damn happy about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's to long chapters and plot building *cheers*
> 
> and also to hoping I've edited this entirely! *more cheers*


	3. boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Victor said you'd like her." 
> 
> Yakov breaks the silence. Yuri's busy thinking of his cat.

Sunday, March 1st

Grandpa calls him first thing in the morning to wish him a happy birthday. Too early in the morning. He can hear new going over the phone. Yuri barely wakes up for it kind of early, yawning and still groggy as they speak. 

Nikolai's excited for Yuri and tells him that he's waiting for the news from "those auditions you talked about." Nikolai doesn't remember Yuri mentioning the Mariinsky or the Bolshoi or any other company he'd probably dance for by name, but he tries

Mila texts him well into the previous night. He was passed out by 11, but not out of responsibility he was just tired as hell. He has been so tired lately

Text books and half finished homework on the floor of his room after he'd pushed it all there in favor of rolling over and falling asleep. He lost the second he left the living room and decided to study in bed, a pretty universal experience. How could he resist passing out.

Still, it was a productive day. He doesn't have much else to do outside of dance and so no excuse as to why he can't at least do his makeup work -All the work he didn't do while away with grandpa and what's been acquired since being back. It's almost over anyway.

**Happy birthday, Yuri! Don't spend it sulking** 😘 Her message says.

By noon, after he's napped a few more hours, there are several texts from people he's, at best, acquainted with in his academic classes. JJ somehow knows his birthday. Some fucking how, as Yuri wasn't the one who told him.

Yuri sends him an emoji: 🖕🏻 __

Then a **_Thanks_** several minutes later because he feels the slightest bit guilty. The entire two line exchange is in English and Yuri has to switch his keyboard to type.

How does someone like JJ end up in Russia anyway? His confidence sure fits. He doesn't. He must be better than Yuri gives him credit for. 

Yuri figures he should get up then, lest he fall back asleep and fuck up his sleep schedule. Which is so important, but too often neglected because, well, he is 17-no, 18. Eighteen now.

The house is as quiet as it usually is. Punctuated only by the redundant settling of the wood under Yuri's feet. It's gloomy and rainy out, so the house feels a little humid and Yuri feels sticky. Yakov never spends too much time at home. Yuri couldn't say what he's doing outside of when Yuri specifically knows what he's literally doing. Where he is and who he's teaching. 

He has three eggs, toast with jelly and a banana for breakfast, again. Yakov says only savages eat ketchup on their eggs. Yuri thinks of it every time he douses his scramble. The way his nose scrunches up and he frowns like there's a smell that just won't go away.

He washes it down with the cold coffee Yakov left behind and then guzzles a ton of water because the coffee was disgusting.

Then he showers. After which, he realizes he's stiff and cracking all over form lying in bed all morning so he stretches for a while. Nothing extravagant, no fucking over splits. Mostly just rolling his joints on the living room floor. Coffee table pushed aside. Doing the stretches slow and with control is key, but he's just half-assing it, so he lies on the floor carelessly too often in the rotation to really call it working.

Today will be another uneventful day. It's Sunday and that means a well deserved rest day, but sometimes he uses the spare room, that Yakov keeps empty for unspoken reasons, to stay limber. 

There's a barre mounted in there and a big rectangular mirror with vines and leaves carved into, heavy, golden trim.

It used to be Lilia's, but apparently she's forgotten about it and Yakov is hoarding it in his home. Not to mention, it's entirely too heavy to be lifted by two old fucks like them. 

Yuri can push it well enough, but it scratches the floor and makes this horrific screech when he does. So he only resorts to moving it when getting the ray of light he wants is important enough.

The one window is square and faces the river, and west so Yuri can see the sun go down when he's there. The wide cut out ledge that the window sits in has enough space for him to keep a couple throw pillows on.

The sunsets in that room are an inspiring aesthetic that Yuri fills his Instagram with. His shadow shows across the floor behind him. The dark side of his body, where the sun doesn't reach, are a pleasant contrast to the brighter, oversaturated opposite side. 

The mirror is a relic of a piece, with the reflection of an empty, dingy room. Where the paint flakes off in clusters across areas of the wall. There's a trim halfway up the walls that has tiny sunflowers along it. It borders each of the four walls. The panelling below is a faded light green. 

He used to think it was going to be a nursery, but Yuri's too leery of the possibility to ever have that conversation or even ask, and Yakov's too prideful to allow that level of vulnerability. He sometimes considers that maybe it stays empty because Yakov simply doesn't have anything to put in it. Still, for all of their sakes, Yuri never mentions it. 

Instead, he uses the room for the dreamy, ethereal purgatory-esque portfolio of an Instagram. Sometimes, the photos look like a life was lived in the room.

The one downfall is the old wooden flooring. Yuri's gotten too many splinters. He doesn't dance in there much at all because of it.

Instead of settling on the floor in the open space, he climb to sit on that bumped out window sill and tugging at the curtains until the light bathes him. 

It's not as fulfilling when the skies are grey like they are now.

He keeps his phone in the pocket of his shorts and shoves the inside sleeve to his inner thigh every now and again to be sure it doesn't fall out. The shorts, bunched and settling high on his hips with the way he drapes himself over the pillows. With his head lulled to the side because his hair is still damp from his shower and Yakov would have an absolute fit if Yuri got conditioner residue stains on the plush, white woven fabric.

Yuri can't even remember when he got so bored..

Nikolai used to get angry at him. Saying he was glued to his phone and getting meaner to everyone he interacted with outside of it. That it was a bad habit and that it was nothing but vanity. Maybe he makes a good point.

Still, when Yuri's bored he finds himself scrolling aimlessly through the edited reality people wished their lives came down to.

When he feels the urge to crawl out of the window and onto the floor, Yuri goes back to his room instead of taking selfies. 

He ties his hair back and sanks to the floor. Sometimes he really misses his grandpa.

He misses the way Nikolai he would stare at him when Yuri frustrated him. Nickolai hounded him in silence with those looks and the way he would drop Yuri's plates in front of him on their dining table that has Yuri's name carved into each of the legs. The food never lost its flavor even then. He would sit right across from him and listen to Yuri talk about school and other bullshit that he worried about even when he's angry.

And if it ever bothered him to raise his estranged daughter's son, he never let Yuri on to it. He was all Yuri really had. Yuri tries to never thinks about his parents in his lower moments because he doesn't care enough about them to waste the energy. They don't deserve it.

The sky outside clears up a little and Yuri lies back against the bed and watches. Clouds go by and he tries to see shapes in them, but he's paying too much attention to the lot of them to make anything out entirely. 

His phone chimes. Yuri doesn't rush to look at it. It chimes again and he digs it out of his pocket.

It's nearly 3pm when Victor texts him. Yuri's eye roll is perfunctory and weak as his head rolls to the side and he eyes the screen in his palm.

**Happy Birthday, Yura!**

**I have a something or you.**

He hates being reminded of Victor. More than that, he hates when he's preoccupied with everything and nothing, but no thoughts of Victor and then somehow Victor comes up anyway. As if Yuri isn't allowed to just write him out of his mind. 

How could the asshole possibly just quit? Before Yuri's even had the chance to out shine him and shut him up?

What the fuck is that about?

Yuri decides to ignore him for a while.

It's a half an hour passed 4pm when Yakov comes home with a box. Yuri's at the top of the stairs, third step down actually, leaning lazily against the wall with his head tucked under the banister and the bun on top pushed messily around the crown of his head under the force of the thin metal rod. 

His feet hang over the opposite edge, through the slots of open space between the wooden spares that spring from each stair. Yakov hates when he does that, but Yahov hasn't noticed him just yet.

Yuri stares down at them, interested and forgetful of his thumb still brush passed all the recents on his feed. He's not particularly bothered by not hearing from them all day...even though it is his birthday.

"God damn it, Lilia." Yakov fumbles with the box with his back against the door, foot out to kick open the other as Lilia appears and pushes at the door opposite him. Lilia saunters in without any help offered to the man. Her heels clank against the smooth wooden floor loudl, glistening with splashed water from the ground outside.

"It's necessary," she says. "Perhaps even too overdue."

Yuri lets the phone rest against his stomach as he watches them. Yakov sets the box down gently and rounds back out of the door, Lilia stretching out a hand to hold one side, her back to Yuri until Yakov appears again. Yuri looks at the box, curious of the holes in the top. It wiggles a little. There are soft squeaks echoing from inside. What are they up to? What's overdue?

"Here are the things from the car."

"He'll be grateful."

"So you say," Yakov sighs, setting down the tall paper bags."Yuri, are you here?!" He calls, raspy voice cracking. A cough follows as he's looking up just to meet Yuri's eyes.

"Ah, there you are."

"Yura, stop sitting like that. Come down, would you?" Lilia flips her hand at him.

Yuri rolls his eyes. He tugs his feet out of the railings and stands with a huff. 

"Happy birthday, Yura." Lilia says, petting his cheek and smiling that tight lipped smile that is no more than a twitch at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are soft though, admiring as they glaze over him. 

"Yakov," she exhales, moving aside. 

"This was not my first choice in gifts," Yakov huffs, he bends to pick up the box and Yuri steps forward to take it as it's thrust at him. The squeaks become meows to his ears and Yuri grimaces.

"Happy birthday, boy."

"Oh fuck." Yuri says, the box pressed to his chest. The scratches on the inside ripple a little against his body. The weight shifts as the animal moves about inside. He's wide eyed and staring Yakov down.

"Well, don't keep it in there. Let the damn animal breath!"

"What the hell!" Yuri crouches down, tearing open the tabs at the top to see a kitten, about the size of one of his feet, attempting to hop over the edges. Entirely too small to have been adopted officially. She must come from a family somewhere, giving away their house cat's offspring. The box wiggles and shakes and Yuri uses his arms to keep the white mound of fur from escaping.

"You got me a cat!?"

"It's a girl. The family called her Potya." Lilia moves to stare down at him with the fur ball, side by side with Yakov who frowns at the sight of her. Like a pair of parents that cave to their child's wishes. Yuri didn't ask for or hint at anything though. 

Let alone a living thing.

"That's a dumb name," Yakov snorts.

"Why'd you get me a damn cat?!"

"Lilia, we're taking the damn thing back-" 

"No!" Yuri says, swatting Yakov's hand off the box handle and falling back on his ass as the cat climbs his chest and sticks to his shoulder. "No." He says again, trying to dislodge the kitten from his skin and calm her down. Both hands wrapped around her tiny, shivering body in defense. Yuri cups her close and accepts his fate. He's a parent now.

"I want her now, too late!"

And that's that. 

Yuri takes the brown paper bag of cat things to his room and lets Potya down on his bed. She sticks to the edge as he immediately rummages around and gathers what he needs to give her a proper litterbox. In the middle of that it dawns on him that it would be his responsibility to clean it too. 

Potya, mustering herself forward as if she'll jump, but changing her mind over and over again, is so precious that he can't get mad at it. There she is, charging around his down stuffed quilt and crying her small voice horse.

And he takes a million pictures, but none of them do her adorable self justice, so he takes a million more.

L ilia doesn't look like she can cook, but on occasion she does. Apron wrapped around her back and tied against her very flat stomach. Yakov slices meat and Lilia stands over the stove with multiple pots simmering with things. They have a quiet conversation that Yuri can't hear over the news channel Yakov turns on and Potya in his ear.

Potya is clingy. Clingy and loud. Yuri sits in the dining room and holds onto her as she stares around and finds purchase in his skin when she loses balance on his shoulders. Her tail tickles his face and wands through his hair. Her fur is soft and messy, not quite long or uniform yet, like it would be on a grown cat. She looks him in his eyes and chirps as best she can with her small body.

Yuri is wholeheartedly surprised. Dinner smells pretty good and the cat on his chest is the most softening thing to happen to him yet. 

Lilia and Yakov hate when he's got his phone at the table, but they don't say anything about Potya being there that night. Though a vein does pop in Yakov's forehead when she hops onto the table. Yuri puts her on the floor instead of his lap then.

She climbs his legs and really invalidates the whole thing though.

Later, he sends JJ a picture of her for the hell of it. He responds how Yuri expects him to.

**She's so cute, just like you 😉**

  
  
  


March

  
  


It's hard to leave Potya in the morning. Like a parent, Yuri just feels so inclined to respond already. Potya wakes him an hour before his alarm is set to go off. She's crawling over his hair, chirping and meowing while yellow strands catch and break under her kneading. He's not tired, he got plenty of rest, so it's a pleasant way to wake all things considered.

She follows him around while he brushes his teeth, biting his toes and chasing his feet. As he digs through his drawers she climbs in. Eventuality, when he finds Yakov in the kitchen, Potya tight at his heel. When Yuri feeds her and she uses her nails to scale his leg. 

Yakov makes him push the litterbox in his room and shut her in there before they leave. They're halfway out of the door when Yakov hears her crying behind them and demands Yuri at least keep her in one room until she's not wild and curious. 

Yuri wonders if he regrets bringing her home 15 hours ago. He hopes not, because in those last 15 hours Yuri finds himself happy to have her. At what point it dawns on him, he can't say. Maybe after he decides cleaning the litterbox is worth it.

"Victor said you'd like her." Yakov breaks the silence. Yuri's busy thinking of his cat.

Victor got his poodle, Makkachin, from Yakov when he was 15 and he's had her for nearly 15 years now. It figures he'd find a pet to be a good gift. Yuri just snorts at the reveal. Of course, Victor's got a hand in this.

Monday through Friday are long days. In which Yuri dances, does every other school thing, and dances some more. It'll be early evening by the time he gets home. Later for Yakov, it's always nearing 8 pm when he does. That's the reality of being on the board of a performing arts school it seems. He takes on extra responsibility by being an instructor as well. It must be rewarding for him to have been doing it for so long.

The days end uneventfully for the most part. He's not practicing for any shows, but there is an overlying pressure for something in the air.

Even in the house, alone, Yuri wonders if he should consider himself lucky for the life he has. He checks his phone on the way up the stairs, Victor's message thread is still unopened after swiping the notes off of his home screen. He can't fathom what the gift would be.

**What is it?** Yuri finally sends, amazingly late, but the point is he does respond.

It's another Friday night. Another day closer to April. Where Yuri will surely see Victor at the Mariinsky, if not any time before because he says he'll stop dancing, but he really won't.

Victor not going anywhere.

  
  


March

  
  


He's alone in one of the studios... until he's not. The noise outside of it is muffled and dull, and for a second he can hear it clearly as the door swings open. Lilia's there in view as the door settles to a close behind her. Then she glides over, soundless but steady. Yuri gets just a little scared by the purpose in her step.

She takes that skinny hand of hers, dainty and spotted with the tellings of her age, and slaps his forehead with the back of it. 

“Who are you?” Lilia jeers. She puts her fists to her hips and stares at him, expecting an answer. 

Confused, Yuri squints at her. The question could be rhetorical, but in the case that it wasn't he still wouldn't know what to say.

She's shorter than him by some centimeters now. Lilia, despite her age is still thin, sculpted and toned. Only seemingly taller than everyone else because her legs were seventy percent of her body. 

Holding his head, Yuri backs up on his elbow and croaks. “What?”

He's been doing fine. His grades are acceptable. He's agile and elegant and so obviously talented. Hasn't been late to their practices since Victor. He feels it in his limbs, in his fucking muscles, that everything should be as she expects it. Barre always goes smoothly. He's gotten infinitely better at keeping his face dubious and soft while he dances. 

Mock exams, Saturday morning practices, all the time he spends ignoring all the distractions in class. He's doing just fine. 

Doing everything as he should be fucking doing it, like they say, but of course it's Lilia who notices how much some things just aren't enough.

“Damn it, Baba,” Yuri curses her as the needle stings rush over his skin. The phantom feel of her hand left over. Typically, she'd be pissed at the nickname, but that's not the case today.

"Victor was the one who suggested getting you a pet.”

"Victor's too self absorbed to know anything," he mutters. 

“I let you dally because growth is necessary, but it is long overdue that you be reminded of your situation."

Yuri opens his mouth to speak, but Lilia has  _ something _ to say. Obviously, his attempt at maintaining a certain level of control against stress and overworking himself comes off as carelessness. Natural talent doesn't inspire blind eyes apparently. Which isn't exactly their fault. He hasn't been the wildfire he used to be. 

“I don't teach you with such dedication just to get this far and yet you've gotten bored."

“Take my life while you’re at it, why don't you?!” Yuri swallows and grits his teeth. "Who says I'm bored?"

"Your actions say enough."

"Well, I'm not," he huffs.

"I just hope that you'll be prepared when it comes time to move on."

"I will be."

Lilia stares at him with pursed lips and a narrow eyes for the longest time before she nods to herself and leaves him be. 

Yuri breathes out loudly and groans.

He's bored with life maybe, but he's still a great fucking dancer and he's never given anyone reason to doubt it. 

There's a photographer there today. Everyone is more excitable and fidgety, extra aware of their posture and physiques. There's constantly thumping and music from all sides of his empty room and yet Yuri still can't catch a break.

Yuri's as he always is. Unwillingly aware of the people and happenings around him.

"You ready, kitten?" JJ whispers, crouched down and holding his knees. His body leaned forward just enough to get too close for comfort to Yuri's head and speak his words with a little too much breath. In Russian no less.

Yuri jumps, lifting his head so quick he tilts back and is held up by one of JJ's unfairly long legs. His overly stimulated ear tickles under JJ's assault, sending a nonconsensual shiver down his spine and bringing the tiny hairs on his neck to a stand. Jesus fucking Christ…

"You jackhole, what the hell!?" He swings a hand back in an attempt to knock JJ over. "Get away from me-"

It doesn't work, obviously. JJ catches his arm and opens that mouth of his just to laugh. "Just messing with you, Plisetsky," he says.

"Your Russian is atrocious," Yuri snorts. It's not that bad, definitely not that good really, but no point in letting JJ think he's good at everything. 

"Did you learn that just to say it to me?"

"I know more than you think." 

That, he does. Yuri glares as he crouches and falls to settle himself in Yuri's space. 

"Fucker…" Yuri mumbles. He can't even mock him with the certainty that he doesn't know what Yuri's saying anymore.

"Everyone's so pent up, lately, just like you." JJ pulls his phone out if his waistband and unlocks it to show Yuri a photo.

It's of him, mid calypso leap, the colorless photo is seemingly grey, but Yuri actually looks closer to tell it's not. The sunlight just washes everything out.

"Looks good, right?" He asks. Yuri looks at him blankly, the slight forming of a snarl at his lips. Several seconds pass before he rolls his eyes.

"If I say yes will you leave?"

They don't dance today. It's dedicated entirely to taking proper, more recent full body photos. Audition etiquette and dance companies that fit you realistically, not ideally. Yuri searches through archives on his laptop while he waits. There are more than enough exceptional photos from past performances and promotional shoots to assemble his applications. So many that he can't choose. 

When it's all done, and the day is officially over, Yuri can't yet find the energy to get up and go. It's an early day in comparison to most others. A good one too. He's not particularly bothered by anything and not even JJ ruins it. 

That somber, accomplished and at ease feeling of finally doing something that's been weighing on him for weeks isn't disappointing at all. Plus, Potya's going be there when he gets back.

Victor's bothered him about it. The instructors at school often ask his peers what they'll be doing after graduation and he's there to hear it all. He thinks that they'll leave him alone since it's a given that the most dedicated students will probably be hell bent on proving themselves in audition season. They're too good to end it here. And now that he's sent his damn photos and his dance clips they can leave him the hell alone until it comes time to actually dance. 

Autopiloting the day was fine until he lies in bed and stares at the moon, too bright to ignore. But he's too comfortable to get back up and close the curtains.

Potya kneads at his stomach. Circling and searching for comfort by routine. He definitely can't move once she's settled.

She looks pearlescent under the light. She's a small ball of rumbling fluff against him, tickling the silver of skin along his stomach that tossing around in bed reveals.

Victor's right about her being a great gift at least.

  
  


April

  
  


The fabric is plush under his palms and tough under his fingers, desperately grasping for purchase at the arms of the chair. The pressure burns where his calves brush the bottom cushion, feet up and arched, toes digging into the carpet rough and tense.

He holds his breath until it's too much and gasps at pressure, too satisfying to bear in silence like he's trying to. He can't control it. Rocking back and forth with a fervor that just won't hit the right spot. He's doing the best he can, but even so deep inside, it just isn't enough. 

Victor's name is like silk on Yuri's lips. His hands hold onto Yuri's hips, his grip tightens and loosens at every angle too good or every clench too tight. Yuri blushes the whole time he rocks and the sound of his skin against Victor's echoes throughout the room. 

It's so dull and yet bright. There's light, but no sun. An ominous aura made up entirely of lust and light that shines all around but from no specific source.

He rocks and stutters. Again and again. He shudders and folds in on himself before arching out again, collapsing back with a particularly loud groan. It's too good. Too filling. Victor's hands roaming his skin and settle on his shoulder and grip him tight. His finger tips press hard into his skin, bruising his collar bones and leaving heated skin in their wake. He doesn't say words, none that Yuri can make out at least. The moans resound in his head, echoing and throbbing throughout his body.

_ "You're so good, Yura." _

His eyes don't just snap open, they flutter. He's aware almost immediately that he's humming at his pleasure unconsciously. Horrified, that he can still feel the sounds vibrating in his throat when he wakes. Airy and guttural. His fingers clenching at his pillow are not trying to dig into Victor's couch anymore. The way his hips angle against his bed is tormenting in the most delicious way.

Yuri hates it and for the moment, he hates himself. It was so clear and he was so present. He can still hear Victor's voice in his ear. Except it's not Victor's voice, it's his interpretation of it, molding it to the encouragement Yuri needs. 

He's hot, sweaty under his blanket and sticky in his shorts. Mouth dry. Eyes watering. Head pounding. Overwhelmed by the boner he doesn't manage to finish off before waking. That he won't touch. He refuses. He never asked for this and he can't give in.

Yuri fumbles around to find his phone amongst the sheets, and pokes the screen. It lights up for him. It's 3am, but he can't go to sleep like this.

He stares at the walls and attempts to will his problems away.

It doesn't work.

Potya is sound asleep, opting to stretch out on the pillow next to him. Probably at the point at which he started moving against his mattress desperately. He wishes he could be so burdenless.

Lying back once more and tracing pads of the paw reaching out to his face, Yuri wishes he could be so at ease. At the very least, he wishes it just wasn't Victor his mind conjures up to acts out whatever frustration he's under. It's unfair.

Spitefully, he considers the fact that Yuuri Katsuki can probably relate to this particular situation. For as curious as he is about them, Yuri never seems to have the chance to be nosy. Like any curious, averagely jealous teen, he changes his shorts -never touches himself to do it- and lies on his side. With pillow tucked under his head in a tight fold, he scrolls through Yuuri's instagram photos again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an update schedule whatsoever ever, I should just post the whole thing (or at least everything I have).
> 
> Thanks for reading~ kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	4. relationships?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri knows that they aren't his easy-pass for success, and he doesn't want them to be. 

April

The days go by faster than Yuri can keep up with.

There's an aura of intensity cast over everyone and everything for days. Yuri doesn't like it.

He knows, as well as anyone, why, but it doesn't change the fact that they're all in the same boat. That Lilia and Yakov stress him out every time it seems even a little like he's unmotivated. That they're all getting on every damn nerve he has.

Yakov is physically incapable of coddling. Crying children make him anxious and he's always grumpy. Always on edge and ready to blow like a fucking lego is perpetually stuck in his foot. He frowns at Yuri until the wrinkles on his forehead mimic waves and Yuri glares all the same. 

Yuri maintains that he doesn't have a lot in common with a man in his 50s, not enough to feel close to him, but sometimes any reminder of his grandfather is nice. Even one that doesn't give hugs or coddles for him. Rarely even smiles at him. Rarely fucking smiles in general. 

Yokav is lacking in so many emotional aspects, but he doesn't have children and the closest he ever came to it was probably Victor, before Yuri. But Yuri doesn't know anything. Yakov had already lived a life before Yuri could claim consciousness. Who knows what he and Lilia wanted so many years ago, but the universe can be cruel to good people sometimes. Absolutely horrible. But people can be reason enough too.

A man like Yokav, hardened by mysteries and emotional shit you would never hear of a word of, has a story too. Hardly means he can't be nice sometimes. Yuri's seen it enough. 

Yakov got him a cat, and lets it live in his house. If Yuri didn't know any better, he'd call him a father figure. Almost. And maybe he'd do anything Yuri asked him to, within reason, but it's all unspoken. 

“Lilia says you've been productive.”

They still spend Saturday mornings together. Several hours at a time of nothing but dancing. Yuri's not going to be in school that much longer. The future of their time has yet to be decided.

Yokav looks at him once and then away quickly. His eyes are back on the stage in front of him. 

The school is preparing for a show. They have free range of the theater these days. It would make sense given the season and all. Parents like to see the progress and the school likes to show off.

The curtains are up and the stage is bare of anything except several dancers moving in sync to music he does recognize as Chopin. They're all like 13, but they look so serious. None of them are blond and they're all taller than Yuri at that age.

Yuri moves into the audience, behind Yakov. He leans forward on the chair before him. Yakov is two seats down, standing, arms over his chest. Watching the dancers. Judging them.

“You know what you need to do and there is no time to be distracted or withdrawn, Yurachka.” Yokav talks out of the side of his mouth, hard and fast. He's never called Yuri that, but the strangeness is offset by his affectionless voice.

“I know, damn it.” Yuri rolls his eyes and falls back in his seat. “Lilia’s overreacting," he says because he knows she's been in Yakov's ear.

“She also says you've been...” Yokav trails off, following something with his eyes and then turning to bore his stare into Yuri’s soul like he's searching for something. "That you seem distracted and I agree."

Neither of them know the half of it. They think he's withdrawn, like he's going to go and make some impetuous decisions and risk everything on it like there's something else that keeps him warm at night, pays his fucking bills and it's so fucking stupid. 

The fundamental aspect that both Lilia and Yokav seem to be missing? He doesn't have the luxury of falling back on anything else. To get this far on a charitable dollar and then what? Quit? Yuri gets the point, they're just worried, so he can't be mad at them, but they should know him.

The only family he has is in Moscow and Yuri not going back without some good fucking news and some success. He could try out for the Bolshoi and actually take them up on an acceptance.

“Don't be like Victor. Relationships struggle in this industry. No one is ever on the same goddamn page and the best decisions are never good for the both of you,” Yokav gesture with his hands, left and right and then to the floor and ultimately they point to Yuri. His gaze too, falling over Yuri with fire that ultimately cools and takes in his face. Where he's not frowning, but his muscles are tense.

“I feel like you're making this kind of personal,” Yuri blinks and he’s been trying to just listen before speaking, less than he normally gives Yokav. 

“And what do you fucking mean by "relationships"?” Because the last thing Yuri's ever been focused on is a relationship. Of any kind. 

"Nothing," Yakov barks, he closes in and Yuri wonders what the hell is with him today. Yakov's stand before him as he says his peace. "You're too promising to…"

Yakov takes a breath before his voice raises so high. "Just act like you want to be here."

Yakov doesn't stay to see Yuri stare at him, leaving his wide green eyes to focus on only the open space that Yakov used to take up.

Yuri watches his back as he climbs to the stage and the dancers huddled around him. All things considered, Yuri wonders if he's misinterpreted their intentions after all. The common theme being that they're the ones worried and in turn, they stress him the fuck out.

The apparent one now being that they're probably not as dense as he thinks. 

He should find JJ and rile himself up with incompatible banter that makes him want to hit someone. Maybe they prefer him angry.

Whatever.

Yuri gets up. He's here for Victor, not a lecture. Which is strange to admit to himself. 

He hasn't seen Victor in nearly a month. Yakov has been absent and Lilia is harder on the students than normal. It's been a busy, on edge month for the lot of them. A very late birthday gift seems like the acceptable reason to show up on a night he has nothing to do.

He doesn't have to go far to find him either. Victor's in the hall, chatting up someone Yuri doesn't know. 

Yuri's hands curl around the cuffs of denim sleeves the circle his wrists. His phone is heavy in his back pocket, stretching the already slouching fabric of his joggers. He doesn't like how his hair bounces in the knot on top of his head. Yuri's oddly aware of all of those things as he feels more exposed than he likes and it's not even Yakov's fault.

That heart shaped smile brings a subtle brightness to his face, as if he's genuinely taken with whatever they're talking about. For someone so adamant about moving on, he sure is always here.

"Hi, Yuri!" He offers up when he and whoever have parted. "How's your new kitten? Have you fallen in love with her yet?"

Eye contact avoided, Yuri nods. "Yeah, I guess." At no point did he consider how he'd face Victor after having dreamt of fucking him in a chair that Yuri knows for sure Victor owns and can recall perfectly from memory within his subconscious.

He curls and uncurls his toes repeatedly in his boots because fidgeting with his fingers or his hair would be too uncomfortable and telling. 

As much as he wishes he wasn't a caricature of teen angst, he can't help it whatsoever.

"Yuri," Victor says, long slim fingers gliding over Yuri's shoulder and slowly taking grip of him. Pressing into his shoulder blades and caressing the edges of his collar bones with the thumb. It's not an unfamiliar gesture. "I'm sorry if I've been inconsiderate."

"What?" Yuri deadpans. Apologizing isn't something Victor does often, but what does it mean if Yuri's isn't particularly offended by whatever Victor thinks he's done wrong? He surely has no idea what Yuri needs from him and that's quite evident in the way he feels so comfortable touching him. 

Victor's hand falls, he steps closer and takes hold of Yuri's hand. He smiles with his lips. A moment passes and then he's pulling Yuri along the curving hall until they've hit the end. There, the archway they enter leads to a short hall, at the end of which they meet stairs. Victor takes him down and never falters in his hold on Yuri. They come to a door and Victor types in a code that opens to the dressing room lobby. 

It looks like it should be stuffy and smell stale, but instead it smells of a concoction of perfumes and flowers and alcohol. There is no one there, but the scent is likely embedded in the red carpet. Wafting out of the pores in the walls 

"I know that Yakov and Lilia have been overbearing lately."

Victor keeps walking, dragging him through to the other side. Along the walls there are doors and archways into rooms filled with costumes and tables, messy with makeup and hair products.

"That's an understatement." He huffs. Victor's the first thing to come to mind when he thinks of what to say next. He gives it no extra consideration before he lets it slip. 

"They're acting like I've given them any reason to think I'm not serious about this."

Victor nods. "That's probably my fault to some extent."

If he's even sort of offended by Yurio, he doesn't let on or give in. His steps stay steady and his grip holds tight. "I have your gift, Yuri." 

"What is it?"

"Something life changing." Victor says so smoothly it's almost as if he's about to moan by the time the words have faded off his lips. He squeezes Yuri's hand twice and turns to wink at him. 

"Somehow, I doubt that." Yuri mutters, gaze cast away to keep from allowing his red face to be so visible.

Victor guides him to the short set of stairs that ascends up to backstage. Behind that is a hallway, littered with cords, a few stage lights, black boxes. They take that path. There's noise and chatter from beyond the curtain with their being a rehearsal going on.

Yuri's been here before. Not a ton, but a few times a year.

He lets go of Yuri's hand now that he's got him there. He keeps walking until they reach the end, pausing just before another door to stop and face Yuri. 

"I was quite a handful as a teen. Different than you and perhaps they are… weary."

Victor's eyes roll around, his sights circling the air.

"I suggested a pet for your birthday because I can distinctly remember being quite lonely. It's no exaggeration to say it's lonely at the top. By which, I mean that sometimes you lose track of everything else by dedicating yourself to one thing. I was pretty selfish and maybe oblivious to other people's needs and feelings, and being exceptional at your craft seems to emphasize it. There's a constant expectation to win at any cost."

Victor sighs. He stretches his finger and reaches for Yuri, but retracts and combs through his hair instead. It's still as light as Yuri can remember, the roots never darkening, not even after so long. He finally reaches out and twirls a loose strand of Yuri hair. Yuri's could die of the anxiety he feels facing him, but he forces himself to do it anyway. Victor's eyelashes are still as pale as his hair.

"I was reckless sometimes, in ways I won't share."

"So, is this gift you keep mentioning an apology for your past, because this is getting really fucking sappy, Victor." Yuri bites his lip. He's got nothing particularly snarky to say. 

Something about being confided in and having Victor touch him so openly is more settling here, in a windowless hall, silent except for the muffled sound of life on the stage. While they're not in tights or overwhelmed by all the vulnerability it takes to bare your soul and body, Yuri still feels exposed.

Victor laughs. There's a smile on his face again. "No, Yuri."

He pulls away in favor of grasping the handles to the double doors behind him. The heavy kind with the push panel to open them. 

"It's nothing special, really. More nostalgic than anything. And I'm just making conversation."

Victor hums thoughtfully and glances over his shoulder at Yuri. Victor's smile goes sheepish as he finally pushes open the doors and lets Yuri in.

It's just costume storage beyond the door. Garment racks as far back as Yuri can see, several ailes of them. Victor walks off down one of them and Yuri eyes the costumes ones by one. The sight is overwhelming in its entirety. Sparkles, sheer, feathers and tulle all over the room. 

He takes careful steps, taking it all in slowly. He's not quite sure what the point here is, but he can hear Victor rummaging through shit on the other side of the room. The lights are dull enough that Yuri can't tell where Victor is amongst the clothing, so he had to walk through in search of him.

"Why'd you bring me here?" He asks upon finding Victor, in the darkest corner of the room, hunched over a box and a Nutcracker costume in his grasp. The garment meant for the young prince.

"For this," Victor prompts, lift the bundle of fabric up to Yuri's eye level. "Do you recognize it?"

Of course he does. Yuri shrugs. "Yeah, but what the hell's so special about it?"

"Look at it."

It's worn, tattered at its seams with threads popping out here and there. Yuri knows that he's worn it before, but that was several years ago and he's been too big for that particular role for a long while now. No one's worn it since apparently. It's got a light layer of dust on it he can feel in between the pads of his fingers.

"I'm not sure if you realize, but from the outside it's easy to recognize those who excel. Who capture everyone's attention. You demand it, Yuri."

He's about to ask Victor what he could possibly want Yuri to do with it when he flips it over and spreads it out to hold up. The faded red stains on the front of it gives him pause. It's blood and he remembers why. How.

He remembers that he fell at rehearsal once. The day right before the premier. He slipped and landed all wrong, right on his face. His nose bled for too long to be okay, and he was nearly recasted with the understudy because Yakov was afraid he'd be too hurt to dance just the next day.

He cried silently because it was unlike any pain he'd felt in his ten years of life. He was in the hospital for hours and sent home with Yakov with some weak, kid friendly, pain killer. Nikolai had said he'd get on the next plane if Yuri wanted it.

"You probably didn't know it, or remember maybe, but I was there that day."

"Okay, but why..."

Yuri hates Victor sometimes. Victor just does things that are too much for him and he doesn't even know it. 

"Why are you showing me this?" He manages to say it without his voice cracking, but Victor's got eyes. He's not going blind as fast as he's balding and he can surely see the way Yuri's eyes get glassy and moist. What would Victor even mean to say by doing this?

Yuri threw a fit that silenced everyone who worried over his ability to perform. He went on and he did every single show without a hitch. Removing his bandages and ignoring the pain for the shows. Nikolai wasn't there to curse about his stubbornness and Yakov was supposed to be a support, not a parent and Yuri wasn't shy about reminding him. So, Yuri got his way.

In retrospect, it was a small role and he'd likely be doing it the next year, but more than the pain he loathed being treated as fragile.

"I was back here one evening, just looking, and I found it. It reminded me how much I'd really admired your determination in the moment, Yura."

Yuri sniffs, but it's not enough to stop the fire behind his eyes. The water springing up against his will. He bites his lip to distract himself.

"You bastard," he moans under his breath. "You're just fucking with me.

Yuri tosses the garment back into its place in a box of random bullshit. Victor pushes it into a corner under a rack and brushes himself off when he stands.

"But I'm not, I swear," Victor fusses.

Victor pulls Yuri under his arm again, pulling him along to nowhere. "I just wanted to remind you of yourself being that you'll be dancing professionally soon."

April 

"So, I hear you've got a cat?" Mila tosses an arm over him as soon as he's close enough for her to touch. She'd been waiting at the bus stop for him and from there, they'd go to the Mikhailovsky audition together. 

He spots her red hair quick against a merlot colored jacket her hands were tucked into. She sees him all the same, his hair like pale yellow yarn against a very blue jacket.

"Well, I saw that you got a cat," she corrects, in reference to the photo spread Yuri posted. She's pale too and red around her nose and so he wonders how long she's been waiting, but doesn't ask. 

"Yeah. She is the best cat ever." Yuri fumbles around in his pocket, pulling out his phone and revealing a photo of Patya, stuck to the side of his bed in one of her playful, bouts of activity. She's his lock screen photo. 

"Yakov and Lilia got her for me," Yuri brags.

"Aw, she's cute and that's nice to hear from you," Mila grins.

What's that supposed to mean!? He tries to ask, but Mila rocks him at her side, her hand cupped over his shoulder, and blatant ignores his offended retort. She puts her head against his and hums.

"I can't believe Yakov is okay with it," Mila muses.

"He won't even let her roam the house while we're gone."

"Well, that'd be asking for too much, you know Yakov."

Yuri snorts at her response.

"Sooo, are you excited?" Mila says softly, her voice carries the words with a sweet emphasis. 

"Are you?" Yuri asks back, rhetorically. Her excitement is tangible and keeps him tucked under her.

Then she lets him go and they walk with this arms brushing.

"I think I want to dance for Mikhailovsky." Mila puts a finger to her pursed lips and sighs. "I'm not nervous, but I can't help but to think now about how many talented dancers there are and if I deserve this more than so many of them."

Yuri exhales fully and distresses at her sentiment. "It's too early to get sentimental, baba."

"I happen to know that that's Yuri speak for "You've got this, Mila," so thanks, Yuri." Mila nudges him with her elbow and Yuri groans at the grin she gives him. They stumble around some people they disrupt after that, and Mila giggles. Yuri smirks.

He's originally thought that the Mariinsky would be it, the only audition he goes to and the only one he wants to call him back. 

Hire him on the spot, he's so good. Used to be because Victor danced there. Now he just wants to and Victor's not allowed to have anything to do with it.

Yuri's able to find a certain appreciation for cool breezes, sunny days and people that give him their attention. So fucking what he has a hard time being as honest, but he knows he was a hell of a lot worse before. He's tryingnot to be. 

He doesn't thank Mila for being...Mila, but he doesn't shrug out of her hugs or gropes anymore and hopes that it says something. It must. 

So he scoots in again and links their arms at the elbows. "I only want to dance for the Mariinsky," He admits to the wind and Mila.

"Oh, Yuri, I know you do." She brushes her hand up his arm motherly. "We should both just move to Moscow and dance for the Bolshoi."

"We could actually fucking do that," Yuri says. They really could, he's got a home there already.

It's not unlike his everyday classes to stand in front of high brow, straight faced hawks that stare him down and study him like art. If there is anything Yuri's good at, it's performing for an audience. Ignoring the less than pleased expressions of his superiors in favor of doing what he does best. The only thing he truly knows how to do. 

April

The Bolshoi being based in Moscow means that their auditions take place at a location disclosed only to applicants that turned in their requirements correctly and promptly. Yuri did so weeks ago, and over the past weekend he received an email with the details. JJ texts him and asks if he got the same thing and Yuri doesn't immediately flood with the urge to say fuck you back. He doesn't leave him hanging. 

So, they go together.

JJ says he'll pick him up and Yuri gets curious. They text more than usual after his birthday. It's a mess of poor English and Cyrillic, memes and cat photos, but it works. At the very least, their points get across no matter how vaguely or inaccurate. Oh well. Yuri would see him bright and midday.

JJ's got a car. Somehow, he gets a Russian license with what little Russian he speaks and Yuri can't even drive yet. Yakov had refused to teach him. He has neither the time nor the patience anyway and Yuri's never taken the initiative to go learn anywhere else, so...

He kisses Potya's head when JJs says he's outside via text. Yakov is in his office, both doors open when Yuri darts down the stairs and by passes the office without looking in.

"Good luck, Yura." 

He stops in the doorway when he hears it, backtracking just enough to look at Yakov, reading glasses on and nose turned high as he attempts to read on his computer, and say "luck's got nothing to do with it, but thanks."

JJ drives a navy blue Toyota, it sits up high enough that Yuri has to climb in. Once he does, he realizes he doesn't know JJ outside of dance classes and can't figure out how to greet him in a way that doesn't sound rude and ungrateful.

Thankfully, JJ has the talking covered.

"Yuri! Welcome! You're uber has arrived!" He damn near yells.

JJ's a mess of a person, not that Yuri isn't, and driving with him inspires a constant "watch the fucking road," mentality. In the meantime, Yuri helps navigate over the bluetooth connection that JJ plays his music. Yuri at least knows it's a Daft Punk song.

"Are you excited, princess?" He asks, after driving without actual conversation for a while. 

JJ's good in that Yuri never has to worry about feeling awkward. He's a natural at ice breaking.

"I'm not a damn princess," Yuri growls.

"Fine, fine, fine," JJ concedes. 

"But really." He waves a hand out in a motivating gesture. "More dancing, except, with compensation hopefully."

"Money? Is that the only reason you're doing this? Because you know you probably won't make that much." 

Yuri shrugs. JJ gives him a gleeful look before turning back to the road. Yuri is compelled to and does say, "I promise you."

"Look at you, being a rational adult," JJ's teases. "That's the unfortunate truth, but if I was dancing back home I'd probably make even less."

"Why come to Russia anyway, what are you after?" 

"Yuri, it's ballet. Where else would I go to learn?" 

"Ha!" It's a genuine laugh that Yuri can't help. If a little forced, it's real. 

"Really though, Russian kids are otherworldly," JJ sighs. Yuri prefers his furrowed looks watching the road.

Pridefully, as if he represents all of Russia with the Quebecois boy next to him, in his japanese car playing music from an album by french producers. "I'm glad you know as much."

The location is at a school studio across town. It feels like a long drive because it just is.

The audition goes as follows: dancers will stretch and do barre as a group. Following that, dancers will be expected to perform a series of foundational elements outlined by the director. Lastly, dancers will be shown a run through of an adagio sequence that they will then perform in groups.

Yuri knows, from Lilia, that The Bolshoi is big on elegance and emotion. It operates a bit differently than the companies of St. Petersburg in that regard. She got her own start there.

April

Despite how close he may be to Yakov and Lilia now, after all these years, Yuri knows that they aren't his easy pass for success, and he doesn't want them to be. 

The studio is oddly quiet for the amount of familiarity many of them have with the theater, but Yuri realizes that he's not there for class, and as such, the place is also full with dancers from schools and companies he doesn't know. The majority of them are faces he doesn't recognize. Outside of JJ and Mila and a few others.

He's not with Yuri though, which Yuri is actually happy about. He prefers the bit of silence he gets for now. The first lesson he ever received from Lilia, that had nothing to do with technique, was to control his face and his pace. It's the one constant he's been learning to change. But he hasn't been reprimanded for that in so long, he can't say it's an actual concern anymore.

As for the second lesson...Lilia drills grace and softness into his head. He has to be meticulous and dexterous with his entire body and beautiful all at once. He was nothing if he was ugly. By it, she had meant his resting bitch face and not his narcissism.

Today there are multiple Yakovs and Lilias They converse amongst themselves at a table, covered in a black linen and littered with headshots complete with names and ages. Some of them are past principals others haven't danced in so long he isn't old enough to be able to recognize them. Men and women alike.

He bandaged his feet properly and tied his hair into a neat bun, low on his neck, in preparation. He hasn't had a drink of water for the last hour because he doesn't want to have to pee. 

He stretched all morning, and here he is now, sat comfortably in a split and reaching side to side for either foot.

Closing his legs in front of him and reaching forward. 

He wonders when they start their judging. When the dancing starts or when the dancers walk in. Whether he'll have any chances to show off how competent he is en pointe. This isn't an exhaustive exhibition of everything he can possibly do, unfortunately. 

At barre, Yuri holds on and arches his back to lift his leg behind him. Those standing splits don't do much else but look erotically pretty, so he doesn't hold it for too long. He tests the other leg for measure first.

Across the room, JJ's stretching too. He's good, though Yuri will always deny him the validation because he's not that good. But he kind of is. Not better though.

Settling out of his stretch Yuri looks back at the table of big wigs and sees a familiar face. It takes a slight while, but he remembers eventually that Otabek is his name. He's got a small booklet with him and headed towards the piano. His undercut hair looks freshly buzzed off and he's still dressed in black. His face is blank, but his posture and his detailed adjusting of the sheet music he places on the piano suggests he's very present.

Yuri likes the thought of dancing to live music for them.

Some time in his distraction, Lilia makes her way in and Yuri doesn't even notice until there's a call to stand and some women introduces herself. She talks through an itinerary of the day. 

Sense tells him it's probably not the most appropriate etiquette, so Yuri doesn't expect her attention. That doesn't mean he can't, maybe, hope for it. 

He swears he catches the slight hint of a smile when he double takes at her- just to be sure she's not looking. Which, she's not. Not anymore.

Victor talked about being oblivious and selfish. 

Yuri is neither of those things. Conceited, maybe. He's always had something to prove. Perhaps it was to solidify his place or keep his makeshift parents from losing hope in him. It could just as likely been to convince himself this whole time. 

In the most satisfying way, Yuri finds that by the time the audition comes to a close he feels an honest confidence and so overwhelmed he could just about fucking cry.

He doesn't cry though. JJ offers to take him home and Yuri accepts. 

Then he has dinner with Yakov, like usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, another chapter because I need to post this before I can make another WIP my focus. this is me, validating myself >:,,)
> 
> again: I am my own editor and I take criticism :)


	5. Well, actually...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rage over a lost penny," Otabek answers promptly.
> 
> "Are you fucking kidding?" Yuri asks next.
> 
> "Nope," Otabek declares.
> 
> "That's the actual name?" Yuri stresses.

Spring

  
  


"Can you hear me? Is this thing working? Why are you sideways?" Nikolai holds the tablet awkwardly, at an angle that gives Yuri a sideways straight view up his nose. His mustache looks like nostril hair from the view.

"Because you don't have to turn the tablet, grandpa, hold it up."

"All the other videos are always sideways," Nikolai groans. He has the same concerns each time Yuri attempts to Skype him.

"Well, this is a call," Yuri sighs. He sets his phone up against Yakov's copper paperweight bear and pushes one of the chairs aside to stand back so Nikolai can see him in his white button down and bow tie that Yakov did up for him. This is how he'll look then and since Nikolai can't be there, Yuri shows him now.

"I'm gonna send you videos of the events, though, okay?" Yuri yells at the screen to make up for being so far away from it.

"You won't have to," Nikolai says. "I should be there after all."

"It's okay, that's why I'll send the recordings for you," Yuri crouches in front of the desk. "It's okay if you can't come up, I'll just show you everything that happens."

"But I'm proud of you," Nikolai sighs loudly and goes on like he's angry. "You'll be better than all of them, I know and that's why I'm coming to St. Petersburg."

"Really, everything's mostly about the girls, they've been working on these maid outfits- wait," Yuri brushes his hair off his temples in response to the man's surety. "Really?"

"I can't miss this part, Yarochka."

Yuri pauses long enough for for Nikolai to go silent. The man laughs from his belly when the small grin spreads over Yuri's face and his eyes get a little moist.

May comes about and goes steadily until there's not a day left. Nikolai does come for him. He successfully sees Yuri graduate and all the events that take place at the school in the process. To Yuri it feels like most of what he does is bond with Yakov over various Yuri related things. It still feels good though.

Mila, though excited, points out to him that it's hard to be ecstatic about more dancing when you've been doing it so long. And yes, somehow he finds himself anxious when it comes to being notified that he's got a spot at the Mariinsky if he wants it. He's got options in fact, because all three theaters would have him.

Yuri's only ever really wanted one. Victor used to be why, but he's not anymore. That's what Yuri tells himself. In the meantime, he dances to impress and to keep it off his mind. 

  
  
  


Spring

A Midsummer Night's Dream only runs for several shows. It's light work, but Yuri is excited about it nonetheless. It's humbling to be at the bottom of the totem pole for possibly the first time in his life. Well, not quite the bottom, but if there were an hierarchy, he imagines his place would be top of the bottom tier?

He thinks about it too often, but he's only been "professionally" dancing for a month. 

It's humbling in a way that makes Yuri watch his principals and corps de ballet dancers with careful spite at every rehearsal. Not for the fucking purpose of bettering himself, like they say he should, but getting ahead. See who his competition is.

There haven't been many points at which they dance for reasons of a show, but the summer season requires all the fresh, new dancers to be present for certain events and rehearsals whether they dance or not.

"There will be several shows over the first three days and on the last, we'll have two."

Anna Kovnik is Yuri's new Lilia. She's the Mistress spearheading A Midsummer. So far, Yuri knows that she stopped dancing a bit young to take on the roll.

She's, maybe, 5 years older than Victor? Her hair is blonde, but darker than Yuri's pale yellow locks. It's always pulled up to a high bun and there's never one hair out of place. She seems tall, but she's not that tall, her legs just go on so far and her back is so straight it feels like she is.

"I do enjoy this ballet. It's whimsical and fun and I'm sure you all will enjoy it too. We have only a few weeks to prepare!"

Yuri can tolerate her enough. She's not anymore demanding or intimidating than Lilia. Less than, in fact. When they dance she falls into the role relentlessly. There's no constant reminding of anything, it's expected of them to catch on while watching. To take the initiative to learn quickly and efficiently. No one's reminded of their position, but the overhead implications of being replaceable are already there.

On the edge of the stage, feet together and pulled close to his crotch in a butterfly pose, Yuri is so visibly comfortable rested back on his elbows. He chews his lip and tries hard to pay attention to her, though he's more impatient now than he used to be. A month ago. It seems to fluctuate over the last several months of his life.

It sucks having to earn his place all over again with the disadvantage of several Victors being his greatest competition. 

To his right, JJ is trying so hard to keep up with the Russian speech, and no doubt feeling quite the same As Yuri. They're here to fucking dance, turns out they have to fight too.

When they do dance, however, it's until their feet swell. Victor's obsession with feet isn't Yuri's favorite thing, but it's justified now.

As supporting roles in shows that need large, uniform groups and background figures, there's at least some pressure and some opportunity thus far. It's not the kind Yuri likes. 

If he's nothing else, he is a quick learner. Yuri has that on his side. JJ's advantage is that he's tall and attractive and stands out more without much initial effort. 

Though he's not likely to perform all the roles he wants as soon as he wishes, there is one unsettle, coincidental thing about rehearsals and practices that Yuri enjoys with great spite. His namesake, Yuuri Katsuki, is always around.

They'd yet to meet, let alone see each other up close, when he arrived just a month ago. Now, they are regularly in each other's presence. They don't speak, but Yuri wonders if he's as aware of Yuri as he is of him. 

As a soloist with great potential, Yuri can tell right away what his problem is. It's not fun to be so talented and lack the confidence to make it known. Still, for all he's not, he makes up for in his elegance apparently. He's capable of some real emotional captivating.

Yuri unfolds his legs, his calf muscles flex as he repositions himself. Legs bent up high at the knees. He keeps on his elbows. 

"Wanna do something later, baby Yuri?" 

"Oh, fuck yourself, JJ," his whisper is airy, but louder than he intends it to be.

The most fucked detail of his current situation is that because there are two "Yuris," he gets the short end of the stick by some smart asses in the company. Namely, JJ.

JJ is, by some loose standard, a friend. 

Yuri can't say "Jean-Jacques" with the right enunciation for shit and JJ's Russian is grade-school-chic, so they're even.

"Sure, whatever, I guess." Yuri shrugs. Not everything has to be about dancing. They can have small conversations in entirely Russian now, though, so...Yuri gives him mental points for that. Communication between them is still a nearly incomprehensible salad of English and Russian sometimes.

JJ suggests something and Yuri nods absently. He's busy sizing up Yuuri in the meantime.

He's been in JJ's car several times, it ceased being awkward, to him, the first time. JJ has a way of making Yuri feel like he's known him for a long time. He hadn't imagined JJ would be cooking him dinner as the thing they do tonight, but he hadn't had an expectation anyway.

He crawls onto a stool while JJ rummages through cupboards in his kitchen.

“I'm making tea. Want any?”

“I don't like tea." Yuri sighs around the words, distorted, with his chin in his palm. He sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes. Not because it's nasty, it's just not good or soothing to him. 

Feels like something people force themselves to enjoy just to say they do.

“Oh, you're a coffee person, aren't you? Don't worry, so is Beky,” JJ says. He crouches down and out of sight for a while. 

Yuri can hear the rumble of pots and pans and shit. There's the sound of a lid hitting the floor and circling. If he wasn't awake before, he is after JJ appears once more with an actual fucking kettle and a big smile that he doesn't just look at Yuri with. He looks happy to just fucking _be_ , that's what the smile seems to be.

He's not a coffee person and also not going to drink coffee at 6 in the evening, but he doesn't protest JJ's attempt at being a good host. "Sure," Yuri says flatly, nodding in his palm.

And then he asks, "who the fuck is Beky?"

"Oh, he's my roommate. Otabek."

He turns to the sink, and fills the kettle with water to leave on the flat top stove. Then he's dumping that yellow bag of swedish coffee, Gevalia into the filter of the keurig. Never actually turning it on before moving to rummage through the refrigerator as if he knows his way around a kitchen. As if he already knows what they'll cook, but he's never had that conversation with Yuri.

"Couldn't afford this place without him, bless his modestly "well off" soul."

Yuri’s eyes bounce from one corner to the other like Potya’s when the birds get particularly active outside the windows. He can't see it fitting JJ's character, being a great cook, but there is always time to be surprised by something.

"Is he rich or something?"

"Well, _he_ never explicitly talks about his parent's financials. You can kinda see it on some people, you know?"

No, actually, he can. Jean-Jacques probably cooks as well as he dances. Very fucking good, much to Yuri's dismay. He's confident about the things he's good at, so much so Yuri can't knock him down a single peg.

"I fucking guess," Yuri agrees. He knows what JJ means. Like, when he listens to Victor speak and it's pretty obvious he grew up with a few extra luxuries.

Yuri holds tight to the granite to looks around the corner to stare into the doorway down the hall. He's never been in JJ's place. The door's wide open, but the room is dark. There some portion of a bed, fitting with tousled grey sheets and a fluffy white quilt. In place of a night stand, there's a guitar next to the bed.

Washing and then wiping his hands on a cloth. Padding around with purpose. He digs through the fridge, moves like he's reaching for something and then turns up in another compartment, digging. Assembling things with a sense of purpose. It all appears on the counter while Yuri's looks around.

“Beky says coffee makes him tired, which is pretty wild to me, but eh... I guess,” Yuri can see him shrug from behind. His shoulders look broader hunch over and crouched down. "So, he can drink it before bed like a savage anyway."

“Yeah,” Yuri says really slow. JJ's talking a bit too fast, resorting entirely to english in his comfort. The sentiments aren't hard to understand. He has a sauce and frying pan on the stove, a cutting board on the island in front of Yuri and tea going at the same time as coffee. 

Yuri glances around the rest of the room and when he turns there's an onion and a green pepper in JJ's one palm, a Messermeister in the other. 

“Can you chop?”

The fuck? Yuri reaches out over the island for the knife. His mind is blank for a moment. Huh?

“I can cut vegetables if that's what you're asking me,” Yuri brows go crooked , one at his hairline by now. JJ nods down and Yuri takes the hint. “Yeah, whatever.”

Pushing himself off the stool by the granite island top, he leaves the knife on the counter and pads around to the other side. His feet slip easily against the floor, lacking friction between his sock and the tile. Washes his hands with lukewarm water and almost shakes them dry until JJ flips a towel over his arm and gestures it to him by waving his elbow.

“Thanks.”

Yuri makes food for the sake of nourishment when he's alone. There's no point in so much effort when it'll take him five minutes to eat it. He'll cook it and be full about immediately after, so he doesn't do much of the unnecessary stuff. None of the prep and rarely any planning. It was always easy to use Lilia's dietary plans as an excuse to be completely uninteresting with his food choices. Usually. 

Sometimes there's a craving. Now he would admit he's just too lazy for it.

JJ's slicing open a pack of raw chicken behind him.

According to the microwave it's nearly 7. He hopes he put enough food in Potya's bowl that morning, so she doesn't starve while he's here. She eats through her loneliness, or maybe she's just greedy. Yuri likes to claim the former.

“Do you mind?” Jean asks.

Yuri turns.

“I'm gonna play some music, ‘k?”

“Fine.”

JJ turns a couple of the burners on the stone to the lowest setting, and arranges some things. The counter behind him is littered with things. Eggs, chicken, fucking artisan wheat bread and a slew of spices. Olive oil and low fat butter. Yuri’s got the vegetables. 

JJ walks off and Yuri stops thinking long enough to notice. He's cut the stem off the pepper, cut it in half and dug out the seeds with his finger and not the knife. The strips are relatively similar. The pile of scraps is a mess on the edge of the cutting board, spilling onto the counter.

JJ comes back with a round bluetooth speaker. Plugs the thing up on the outlet on the other side of the counter, next to the toaster. Turns the burners back on and then tosses himself over the island and bends over there next to Yuri, scrolling through his phone for just the right lesson this morning.

“What can I introduce you to today, Plisetsky? Do you even listen to music?"

It's his tone that worries Yuri. Who stops rolling the onion around angles the knife point up as JJ puffs his face out like a fish. Yuri has a knife pointed at him, a stupidly thick, entirely too much for some damn vegetables, German knife.

Yuri goes over his words in his head for a moment. "Nothing you'd probably listen to," Yuri mutters. He shrugs.

He shoves pepper slices to another corner of the cutting board and peels the onion. Slices the onion in half once the outer skin is gone, the stem and that furry part left on either end.

“Wait,”

He's about to cut it again, in thin circular slices when Jean grabs at his wrists. Like yuri isn't holding an extremely thick, sharp knife… again. JJ lays the onion onto the flat side Yuri cut into and places Yuri’s hands for him. Entirely ignorant of the way Yuri goes wide eyed and his shoulders go stiff.

“Cut it this way, perpendicular to the root and not all the way through,” JJ lines Yuri's fingers up, knife tip sliding through just before the messy, fuzzy root of the onion. Then gestures for Yuri to follow the knife through just like that, making thick cords.

“That way, yeah…” Yuri cuts again. “That way when you dice it, the slices won't move too much.”

And then he watches Yuri dice one side of the onion with his complete attention. Mutters a “good,” under his breath and goes back to scrolling.

Yuri's still, mostly because he's too surprised for an on brand, Yuri-esque, reaction. Like, shoving JJ, or yelling at him. The situation makes it kind of tough to keep up his normal guard. So, Yuri just keeps chopping. JJ doesn't seem to notice him, so Yuri just keeps fucking chopping. Panic doesn't ensue and he doesn't even curse.

The song JJ plays is in french. He hums the lyrics softy, soft enough that Yuri can't make them out without the words, but even he was to be able to he'd have no idea what the hell it meant anyway. He has to remind himself to keep chopping when all he wants to do stare at Jean’s stupid hair bobbing with his head, all for the purpose to make fun of him of course, and wonder if he’s actually a good cook and why he's being so nice and welcoming.

"You good over there?"

"Yeah."

JJ waves him over. They toss the pepper slices and the onion in a frying pans and JJ stirs with a long wooden spoon. He pours a bit of oil and sprinkles on the tiniest bit of salt. Yuri watches, within a foot of him, and in no way concerned about it. Not even aware. 

"Where'd you learn how to cook?" He asks. Yuri takes the time to look around instead of staring at JJ's mouth making the noises he does as he sings along with french murmurs Yuri can't understand.

His-their apartment is...nice. Bare on furniture, sleek with its new-ish fixtures, but quaint in structure. It's clean. Comfortable.

"My mother," JJ answers excitedly. "You pick up things when cooking for a family of six!"

"Six?" Yuri exclaims. He brushes the hair that slips into his eyes away and huffs. Forgetting entirely that his hands are still slick with the residue of an onion. "Parents included, I hope."

"Yeah," JJ laughs, airy and sweet. "The four of us and our parents. What about you? You have any siblings?"

"No, not that I know of," Yuri snorts. He frowns down at his hands when he realizes what he's been doing.

 _My mom could have a litter out there for all I know._ "I don't- It's been me and my grandpa my whole life," he says in favor of conjuring up mommy issue word vomit and making things weird.

Weirder than staring JJ in his stupid blue eyes and having a conversation more real than coffee preferences, mild insults.

"Can you grab a few plates and glasses, please? In the cabinet next to the fridge." He asks. 

Yuri doesn't protest, he's idle and watching JJ stir anyway.

The cupboard is neatly organized, and light on ware. Yuri takes two plates from the stack of 4. 

JJ's places some herbs in and throws a lid over the pan and smiles humbly at Yuri. "Grab a third, Otabek's gonna be back soon "

Yuri rolls his eyes, taking a glance over his shoulder to see JJ disappearing around the corner and down the hall from which he retrieved his speaker. 

Yuri didn't sign up for family dinner, but he's here now. And what JJ's done to the food smells particularly good.

He sets the plates on the island and logically checks the next cabinet over for glasses. Then, Yuri get back into his stool. It's wooden with a square base and a really plush cushion that his ass just sinks into. Oddly comfortable.

He considers grabbing silverware, but in that small surge of helpfulness he remembers that he knows an Otabek. Or, well, that he's met an Otabek. The orchestra boy, Otabek. Who he sees around sometimes, but doesn't talk to very much at all. Small world indeed.

Again, he figures the forks and shit should be in the drawer underneath the cabinet with the plates, so he checks there and, yeah, there they are.

He gets back in his stool and JJ's still missing. Even over the music the place is quiet. So silent. It brings much notice to how bare it is too. Bare and clean like two 19 year olds don't live there. How'd they manage to find a quiet quaint apartment complex?

Yuri huffs, hops off the stool and tugs his phone out of his pocket. 

The living room and the kitchen are open, only the hall to their rooms existing through an archway. The living room portion, though, is a step down from the kitchen. 

The foundation is only the height of a single stair. Yuri only notices after falling off of it. The drop makes him gasp but he falls flat on his feet, luckily, and he keeps his balance. It'll take more than a stair to take him out.

Of the several notifications, he opens Mila text first. She sent him a selfie in her fingerless gloves, showing off her manicure, until Yuri realizes the point is to notice the broken, fake nail peeling off her pinky and taking the real nail along for the ride.

 **Never again!** She captions it to him

He gags, closes the app and shivers. He'll respond to her later. 

JJ's taking too long doing whatever he's doing. His playlist of French artistry isn't the best company.

When JJ finally reappears, having abandoned Yuri for far too in his home, he's not wearing the clothes he wore when he left. Instead of the very fitted shirt he wears to practice, he's got on a black t-shirt that shows off the odd tattoo on his bicep. 

Yuri spots it immediately and stares. He's definitely seen it before, but never so clearly.

It's a maple leaf, but also a rose. A rose with a fucking maple leaf. There's some writing underneath it, but Yuri's still grimacing at the entire concept. 

Actually, it's a rose overlay within a maple leaf. What could he possibly be trying to say with that?

"Hope you weren't scared while I was away, kitten." JJ winks at him and Yuri lips take the form of a snarl over his relief.

In reality, his silences with JJ, aren't that much of a torture lately. It's been a slow summer thus far and JJ's been just as free as Yuri.

"What the fuck is that on your arm?"

"Oh, this? It's symbolic." 

"What the fuck could a rose overlaid leaf symbolize?"

"Me!" JJ opens his arms out and smiles at Yuri like it's supposed to strike a reaction outside of a second hand embarrassment induced stupor.

"Wow," is all Yuri says.

It's confirmed that JJ's Otabek is Yuri's Otabek. Not that Yuri has an Otabek really, so that's inaccurate. He's just seen the guy around.

He recognizes Yuri just as much as Yuri recognizes him. He's still in black, but this time he's got a helmet with him and a leather jacket that Yuri immediately finds to be the nicest thing he's ever seen on a person. The beads of sweat on his head and the huffin his voice draws curiosity out of Yuri. 

Otabek gets more interesting every time Yuri sees him.

"Oh, hi, Yuri," he says, and in the middle of JJ's- their apartment, all familiar and such. Like Yuri's not out of place. "Nice to see you again."

They share the meal there, at the island. Otabek thanks them for cooking and settles right next to him, instead of the second chair over, while JJ stays put standing opposite them both. Over dinner he realizes that JJ's is the same enhancing presence to Otabek as he is for Yuri. 

Otabek does drink the coffee JJ makes. He treats it like a dessert almost. Yuri thinks he knows what JJ means about the money thing when his gaze is skipping back and forth from JJ to Otabek, studying the way JJ's eyes practically sparkle for them and Otabek is ignoring his stare blatantly. Yuri's not sure how to comment as he raises the water level of his coffee with a copious amount of sugar to add flavor and filling the cup the rest of the way with milk.

  
  
  


Spring

  
  
  


Yuuri Katsuki doesn't set his social media to private. Yuri occasionally stalks him a little when something inevitably reminds him of Victor and by association, Yuuri. He follows Victor, but he has to search for Yuuri. Maintaining the care to not accidentally follow or like any fucking thing.

The newest picture is not of food or a sunset somewhere. Instead, it's of Yuuri and Victor at an ice skating rink in the city. Yuuri's holding the camera over his head and in the background there is Victor, posed like a ballerina. Knee out, foot as close to his other knee as he can get it with a blade there and all, arms curved above his head like brackets. The caption: _Victor's the best coach!_

"Bleh." Yuri's mouth tugs to the side. His brows knit together. He backtracks to his feed with rough finger pecks and his nail clinking on the glass.

The most offensive fact...Victor has never mentioned it to him. It's been half a year, most of which Yuri has spent pining and obsessing, and the topic has never actually come up. Victor and Yuuri are a _thing_ and it's none of Yuri's fucking business in reality. That's why he hasn't been consulted.

Still, there's the twinge of some hateful concoction in his stomach. Made up of hate, jealousy, a little bit of some spiteful love.

Why does that Yuuri have to work at the same fucking theater? 

Yuri channels his angst into dancing.

It's nearly impossible that Anna will skip several principals and soloists to give Yuri the chance to take a lead, but that doesn't stop him from giving into the absolute need to practice Oberon and Puck's choreography. How far does initiative go with Anna?

Rather than the school studio, the company has a location for practice relatively close to the theater. So, Yuri doesn't run into Lilia or Yakov until they're working on a show, or he sees them at home. Yakov's home, that he's been pressed to consider how long he's allowed to free load in from the point of graduating high school. 

The place is regularly in use, but Yuri's figured the loopholes of privacy. Dance when people are doing things they'd rather be doing than working. Ass crack of dawn early Saturday mornings are guaranteed ghost towns. Yuri has yet to make it then outside of the one, single time he had. Which was, conveniently, during the first week he started. 

In this case, it's a Wednesday and early evening and all he's got is the hope that he can find an empty room. 

It's quiet. Even though there's muffled chatter through the walls. The sound of body weight landing in close consecutive thumps echoes when he gets close enough to a door. There are several rooms, one quite large, the majority smaller but adequate for plenty. Just a couple of them fit for a private label.

The room he chooses is dark when he gets in, but the sun, creeping down steadily, shines in the mirrors and reflects enough that he doesn't rush to turn on the light. He leaves his shoes by the door.

Yuri sets his phone aside on the floor and drops his backpack, leopard print with black trimmings, next to it. He strips out of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in a single motion and dropping it in. In the winter, he'd wear his dance attire right underneath everyday shit, but it's too hot for that now.

The joggers he wears are thin enough to pull up a little high, get some air to his calves at least while he danced. He couldn't be paid to wear his dance belt outside of mandatory rehearsals, so if his sweats butched up weirdly against his crotch, fuck it. 

He grabs his jazz shoes, his phone, and heads to stand center at the mirror. 

He's gotta look for the perfect renditions of the A Midsummer's music.

There's a chord.

The piano in the back of the room rings in a single chord that Yuri can't identify because he dances to music, he doesn't fucking play it. 

He gasps and his body involuntarily jumps.

His heart raises to his throat and the muscles he pulls whipping his head around sting. His phone fumbles around, nearly to the floor until Yuri catches it between his damn knees.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

The lurker keeps quiet as they stare Yuri down. Fingers hover over the piano keys as the chord they play rings throughout the four walls surrounding them. Yuri cranes his head as he walks toward the corner the Piano is tucked into, the open top making it difficult to see.The suns rays and the darkening shadows of the room make it harder to tell. 

The black undercut becomes apparent first. The expressionless face and dark features are familiar enough by now.

"You could have done that earlier, Otabek!"

"Sorry," Otabek croaks. He clears his throat after.

He shuffles the bench around to move his legs out. "I didn't know how to get your attention."

Fingers curled around the bench's edge between his thighs, pulling the fabric around his biceps enough that he looks like he's physical somehow.

Otabek sits up straight, adjusts himself and blinks at Yuri with all his attention.

"A fucking "hey" would have worked!" Yuri sighs heavily, hand over his forehead, heart sinking out of his throat "Why are you playing piano in a dark room anyway?"

"Well, it wasn't dark when I got here."

In the several minutes that Yuri's been in it, the room does get significantly darker. He looks toward the window, through which the sun is disappearing in the distant skyline. The burnt orange color of the sky, illuminated like fire, seemingly emphasizes the darkest corners. Golden hour is ending.

Otabek looks toward the windows with a serene gaze. The level of tranquility he maintains at is something to be admired. A thing Yuri himself could never replicate. His skin is tinted gold under and his hair is so shiny and full, it even looks almost wet.

Otabek blinks back to him. "I was practicing, but I can go if you'd prefer to dance alone."

Yuri glowers under Otabek's scrutiny.

"Nah, you're okay." Yuri waves him off. Spinning on his heels, he returns to the center of the room and throws his arms into the air, dropping them one by one to the sides and bending his torso at his waist. 

"You could play something, and I could dance to it," Yuri suggests. 

He sinks down onto his feet, and falls back to his butt. Deliberately looking away when he notices the contemplation manifest across Otabek's face.

"How's Beethoven?" Otabek asks, quickly.

"Wait, I have to stretch first." Yuri shrugs. His smirk is also a quick breath. And an eye roll. His head turns so Otabek doesn't see it all.

Otabek can play Beethoven on command.

Which isn't the greatest things in the world, Yuri's not starstruck. The way he asks though, it just lacks the vanity Yuri imagines it should have.

Yuri kicks his legs out, parting them wide. Careful to avoid rotating his hips awkwardly.

"Okay," Otabek says, but the keys ring anyway. He plays to Yuri's regimen, a song anyone would know even if not by name. Für Elise. Eyes down at the keys, as still as he's been this whole time.

Yuri squints. He draws his right foot under his right thigh, keeping his left leg extended. He leans to the right, arms stretching out in the same direction. Then he does the left, arms out again. Hold position on either side. Switch legs. Repeat.

The pace picks up, the melody changes from melancholy to sanguine. Otabek's shoulders quake just a little.

Yuri lays back, head turned to watch Otabek. He pulls his knees to his chest and holds steady while the song slows again and Otabek keeps steady. His toes point over his ass. Yuri straightens his legs and he turns his hips in either direction to pull each knee about his level one after the other.

The song ends and whatever Otabek plays next is enough to draw Yuri's attention from his own body to Otabek's. His arms work over the keys fluidly. The song is fast paced, it starts quick and has a whimsical and mischievous sound. It's repetitive, but interesting enough.

Yuri's lying limp on his side by the time he hears the same sequence of chords for the third time. "You're showing off now, Beky." 

He's mocking JJ when he says it, but as per normal, when he does things without thought, Yuri blushes at himself and tosses his head the other direction and rolls onto his stomach. His hair fans out and hides his face in the mirrors. Otabek stumbles over the keys on a particularly resounding note that makes Yuri shiver a bit. 

"I mean, Otabek."

In the silence, he chuckles, low and airy. Yuri stays still, arranged like a chalk outline on the floor until his face isn't so warm.

"What was that?" Yuri asks, mouth distorted against the floor beneath his cheeks.

"Rage over a lost penny," Otabek answers promptly.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Yuri asks next.

"Nope," Otabek declares.

"That's the actual name?" Yuri stresses.

Otabek shrugs and shakes his hair flip back loose and It falls like bangs before his eyes. "No, it's actually Rondo E Capriccio, but better known as Rage over a lost Penny."

Something about the way Otabek speaks makes him feel infinitely more mature than Yuri. And even JJ. It's to the point and lacking all the fluff. Even at dinner Yuri's aware of it, though he hadn't given it any thought. Even as he makes jokes, however corny.

"What were you practicing before I got here?"

Yuri finally flips his head, plants his hand in front of him and hops up to his feet. The darkness provides an atmosphere that would drive him to sleep if he didn't.

The sun is officially gone and only the lights of the city expand across the walls and the floor, giving a shine to the black Steinway. Yuri capers over to the light switch, and turns to glance at Otabek as he presses it on. 

Feet together at his heels, knees straight. Yuri glides to the center, arms first position. He advances back to the center on steady feet, arched high. One swung in front of the other, a gesture that starts at his thigh and keeps his limbs straight. 

"Debussy," He says. "Rêverie."

Yuri raises out of a pliés. Extending a foot out after his last and moving into arabesque. He moves slow as he speaks.

"Okay, that's cool." Yuri nods at him, eye contact suggestive. He's not sure how that piece sounds, but considering Lilia favors Debussy, he imagines he'd recognize it.

"Keep fucking going." He says when Otabek doesn't start back at his hinting. 

Otabek smiles so slightly, Yuri can't really tell he does at all. "Okay."

Yuri shows off a little himself. Not the big things. No jumps and leaps.

Sometimes, Otabek messes up and pauses and starts again and Yuri fills the silent moments with a glare or an awkwardly held position until the music starts again and he can freestyle his movements with no particular goal to achieve. 

Otabek gets into a particular good rhythm. No slip ups according to Yuri's unqualified ears, but the sounds progress uninterrupted so Otabek must be sure of himself.

The dancing Yuri does is entirely freestyled. He doesn't mind Otabek's company. His watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I think this Is just too long...maybe I'm too long winded here aah-
> 
> But i hope you guys enjoy this anyway 
> 
> (listen to rage over a lost penny! It's really fun!)


	6. baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri smiles at him, it's small and forgiving. 
> 
> Yuri wants to ask if he's shacking up here or not. 

Spring 

He's tired. The feeling digs deep in him and roots at his core. He just wants to sleep. Shower and sleep.

Yuri tugs his joggers to their full length, back down to his ankles. Pulls the white t-shirt back over his head, that he'd taken off because he got hot. The collar pulls out his bun and makes a limp ponytail with his hair. He opts to yanking the scrunch off his head and wearing his hair down as it falls anyway.

Otabek leaves long before him. Yuri doesn't protest it or so much of anything but "see ya," having probably stayed longer than he probably would have if he was alone. His presence isn't all consuming, but Yuri is especially aware of him. And after he's gone, Yuri dances until he's sure he has at least one of Oberon's portions in his repertoire. He has to watch and rewatch the video he took of himself to learn it within. Dance and compare the video to be sure. But it's not likely that he'll dance the part either way.

The fact that he gets to have some genuine fun to live music is enough to put him in relatively good spirits. Otabek is as talented as Yuri assumed. He's unnerving, unreadable and yet, Yuri feels comfortable doing what the fuck ever, despite his presence. 

At the door, he flips off the light switches and slips his feet into his shoes. The thump of the door and the click of it behind him isn't even enough in itself to drown out indistinct sound of voices just doors down in the moment.

Victor, however, has a very distinct laugh. It's loud, boisterous as if he's got not a single care in the fucking world. And when he talks, even while he's that obliviously happy, it's still as self assertive as ever. 

Yuri's ears are keen to the pitch. Trained to pick it out and, against his will, so is his body. It's sort of like anger, mostly like jealousy. It wells up in him like hot air. Like helium. He's a balloon and he'll pop soon.

It could very well be the chagrin of standing there, alone, while Victor's excitement resound in the hall around him. The rest of the floor is quiet, so quiet Yuri can hear the car horns and people on the street, filtering in from a window down the hall... The thumps of their feet on the marley.

He counts his steps and walks with a purpose. How many people ever really make Victor laugh so fucking happily. The doors are bordered with wood and hold frosted glass at the center, so it's tough to say people are inside if they aren't moving in the right places.

There's absolutely nothing to be achieved by interrupting them. He's fully aware of it, standing there, overly aware of them while they dance oblivious of him. He reaches for the door, but some new sense makes him hesitate. 

_Fuck it_ is the deciding sentiment. He hasn't seen Victor in so long, which, a few weeks might not be that big a deal in the grand scheme of their careers. But Victor was always supposed to be there. And now that he is, it's not for the right Yuri.

"You'd be good for any part, Yuuri " Victor chimes over Yuuri's shoulder. His mouth dangerously close to Yuuri's ears. The flush on Yuuri's face is telling. Yuri's definitely intruding on _something_. 

"Your elegance is overwhelming in the best way."

His hands graze Yuuri's arms, working out from his biceps to his wrists, where he slides his fingers into Yuuri's palm.

"I like the idea of Sanguine, though." Yuuri holds his bras bas and keeps steady, his head moving to turn. His face ends up closer to Victor's than Yuri thinks he'd allow in the moment, but no. Yuuri looks at him with a gleam in his eyes. His finger part without a second thought. Attaching himself to Victor, like Victor clearly wants to do himself. It's effortless between them.

"I'm just worried I won't fit the mood-" 

Yuri doesn't have to announce himself, he's found out in reflection. He silences Yuuri. Yuuri, who's technically pressed again Victor, visibly kind of stiffens.

Yuuri keeps contact through the mirror, his hands falling out of Victor's.

"Hi, Y-Yurio."

For a moment, Yuri regrets this. He could have just gone home. The deer-in-headlights look that comes over Yuuri's face is validating enough that he wishes he could have seen it without being subject to staying there..

Victor's head whips around. "Oh, Yurio!" 

Yuri jolts at the offense he feels. "Who the fuck is Yurio?"

"Well, my Yuuri here is older, so he has first name rights."

Typical. Yuri rolls his eyes. "Don't call me that, you creep." 

It's not a conscious thing for Yuri to sort of regress in moments like this one. He crosses his arms, hip cocked and accusations in his eyes. 

Victor grins sheepishly. Yuuri blanches. 

"What the fuck are you two doing here this late anyway?"

"We could ask the same of you, Yurio-Yuri-Yu…" Yuuri says, stepping aside and revealing himself from Victor's front. He smiles weirdly at Yuri's leering, narrow eyed gaze. 

Victor speaks before Yuri can protest the reversal. "Well, The Four Temperaments is going to be casting next month and Yuuri skill would be great for it. I'm teaching." 

Victor shrugs. The arm he snakes over Yuuri's shoulder is light over Yuuri's chest. His hand flat against him, but relaxed. Almost tormenting.

Yuri wonders if Yuuri is having the internal meltdown that his face suggests he is. Embarrassment? Are they the relationship Yakov projects on him because of, as if Yuri's anything like either of them. How laughable is that.

"Well, it's late, so we'll probably go soon, though." Yuuri lays his hand on Victor's forearm and nods at him.

"Yeah! I'll give you a ride back home, Yurio, how about it?"

"That's not my damn name!" Yuri insists. Victor glides over in his stupid black point shoes and slaps a hand to Yuri's back. Right between his shoulder blades. Too close for comfort. To close for Yuri not to go hot in the face and everywhere else. This is why he doesn't need to see Victor, ever.

"Whatever."

It's a mistake to stick around, but Yuri does it. He's met with exactly what he expects. What's he's been trying to avoid, but Victor doesn't know that and listening to them converse in his stupid fucking cadillac makes him itch under his skin. Getting to Yakov's takes entire too long.

"Thanks for the fucking ride," Yuri growls through his teeth and shuffles out of his seat before Victor has even put the car into _park_.

"Victor!" Is Yuuri's harsh whisper.

"I know, Yuuri. I know," Victor sighs back.

Yuri hears them both considering Victor doesn't have a roof on his car at the moment.

Yuri is unusually aware of the wind, warm on his skin and rough through his hair. Most likely because the entire car ride is spent suffocating on his own bullshit. Since Victor's car has that drop top, by the time they get to Yakov's Yuri's hair is already tangled and knotty. Of course, they wouldn't realize because their hair is fucking short.

He doesn't want confrontation right now. He wants to get into the house as quickly as he can. Do anything _else_ as quickly as he can.

Victor mumbles to Yuuri before he gets out of the car and follows Yuri, close behind and reaching out to stop him by a grip on his shoulder.

What Victor doesn't know is that Yuri has just as much to say. More even. He's no stranger to choler or pent up feelings. Venting and asking the important questions are things he rarely does though.

He spins on his heels, too cleanly for the current mood and a joke about it. This isn't what he's been waiting for, but for too long of a while it's been what he's needed.

"You're supposed to fucking be here." Yuri growls through his teeth. He means to leave it at that, but it's difficult to bottle things back up once they've spilled. "Dancing!"

Yakov, if he's wasn't awake, might be at this point.

"For so fucking long you've been daring me to challenge you, and you up and fucking quit when I finally can."

Victor starts on his name, but it barely catches wind on his lips. He looks all but surprised at Yuri's outburst, judging by the sincere and soft way he peers at Yuri. A head taller than him on the stairs. He's eager to say anything.

"It's not fair and, fuck this, you're making me feel like a fucking child for it."His voice trails off exactly how he wishes it wouldn't when he blurted out this bullshit. His hands are in fists. He never understood the notion of puncturing your own palms with your nails. It's a pain easy to ignore when you're overwhelmed with certain feelings.

"I get the distinct feeling that I'm what you need, Yuri" Victor says softly. His hands stay still at his sides.

"Or something along those lines. I figured it was best that I let you work through whatever it was a while ago. It wasn't my intention to...abandon you."

"I didn't say you abandoned me."

"Fine. Take away your...opportunity, then," Victor offers instead. His hands twirl around each other as he puts his words out into the open.

"Opportunity, " Yuri snorts. "You ever think it was just you?" He doesn't mean to blush, but he's already red in the face. Too red for some sappy words to earn him an embarrassment stronger than the nerve he feels now.

"I'm not blind, and contrary to your opinion, nor am I _stupid_ , _Yura._ " Victor climbs up once, a step away. "Yura, you're welcomed in my life, Yuuri's too, I'm sure. But you'll never get what you want brooding and listless."

"What are you saying?"

Victor smiles, in the stupid, toothless way he does. His lips still form an obscure heart with a closed, upturned mouth. 

Then that all disappears and his stares Yuri in his eyes and speaks. "I'm saying, you never needed me to do anything. Thanks for the validation, but you're perfectly capable. Of dancing and being in my life without the aspect of competition or anything else. Nothing conditional."

It's been a while since Yuri's been able to stare into Victor's eyes without wanting to do something...like hit him or run away. Well, he still wants to hit him and run away, but more than that Yuri wants to believe that he's bigger than jealousy. He doesn't back down from it now. He can't. 

"So, what? That's it?" Yuri shrugs. He shakes his head and tosses his hands around in hopes of conjuring up something more, but Victor's already said more than Yuri's expected. Is it not so odd that he's a little pleased with it? Pleased enough to loosen the grip on his palm and be more rational in the moment.

"Is there more?" Victor asks of Yuri, knowingly. The inflection in his tone says more than Yuri's able to comprehend. 

Is there?

"Why'd you show me the Nutcracker costume?" Yuri asks. He wants that explanation. He wants plenty of explanations, but he'll never get them.

Victor laughs at that. His eyes crinkle some as he rubs his cheek and grins sheepishly at Yuri. "I thought it would help you, honestly. It's hard to cope with losing some motivation -and yes, Yuri it was pretty apparent."

He scoffs, of course, because Yuri's going to acknowledge that further. "Fine, whatever, shut up," he sighs. His eyes don't leave Victor a while and Victor maintain that stupid smile all the while.

"I'm going to bed," Yuri says, shuffling back before twisting. 

"Don't sulk too much, okay?" Victor calls out from the stairs, catching Yuri's eyes before the door shuts him out.

"Shut up!" 

Once cut off from the world, Yuri collapses back against the door and breathes like he's been holding onto it for hours. All things considered, maybe he has and it's only so noticeable after coming down from the high he has to maintain to face Victor so honestly. Not that it's enough. 

The tension in his fingers and the heat that welds up under his skin are telling. He wants to yell more. The way he can feel his own heart in his ears is testimony.

"Fuck this bullshit," Yuri whispers into his palms.

He smooths his hands over his face, pushing his hair back and gripping into it until his hairline tugs from the pressure.

He's never had a conversation like that. If it could even be called a conversation.

He showers to cool off as much as he does to actually wash away the day.

Then he brings Potya into the empty room with him so she can look out of a new window and sniff new corners. She stuffs herself snug behind the silver of space behind the mirror.

Falling out on the window sill is an enveloping feeling every time. The moon is round and bigger than Yuri's memory can imagine it used to be.

Maybe it's the silence, or the way the air just feels cleaner in a bare room, sort of like it does in JJ and Otabek's place. Must have something to do with being so bare.

His day hasn't been so tiring, but he's been thinking a lot and maybe that's just as bad. Victor so readily ignores his bullshit to be level headed and just as serious as Yuri needs him to be. Yet again, Yuri feels stupid.

The wood is cold, and scratchy with the paint chipped here and there. He rearranges the pillows to make it a bit better, lying there on his back, feet up and flat to the wall. Gaze tossing between Potya checking out her own reflection and the sunset. Yuri takes care to keep his hair off the pillows. It's long enough now that it just hangs over the edge.

It's nice to not think of anything at all for the moment. Even though he's got texts from Mila and JJ and the one new follower of several that his Instagram notification mentions by name is almost like the universe wants to capture his attention. It goes like this: **otabek-altin and 4 others have followed you.**

JJ's asking if he wants a ride to the theater tomorrow. Mila hates that her nail has to grow all over again and the antibiotics they gave her to prevent an infection is making her breakout—evident by the pimple she has on her forehead, conveniently hidden by her bangs.

He's curious, so he lets them hang on for a while in favor of ogling that **Follows You** on Otabek's profile.

Yuri flips onto his stomach and takes the distraction for what it's worth.

Otabek's got 1647 followers and three posts. He follows exactly 100. Yuri's ratios, in comparison, are lacking. Though he has triple the followers, he follows far more. It's shallow, but it makes him consider an unfollowing spree.

The most recent post on Otabek's account is dated back in December. A scenery photo. It's of a mountain view, taken from close enough that Yuri can make out individual trees and the head of someone close to him in the corner. 

The second is of a computer, some fucking turn tables, and a launch pad? The name of some club is tagged and the picture has over two thousand likes. The location is Russia, in July of the last year.

The oldest is of him playing a piano, in an expensive looking robe. Even sitting, it's quite long. In a deep blue, too bright to be navy, perhaps royal. It's decorated with gold embroidery down the front and a thin layer of fur at the breast. Underneath he's still in black, as usual, but his hair cut is different enough that his face doesn't even look the same. It's boyish and round at the edges. It's longer all around, grazing his earlobes and parted at the side to keep his bangs from his face. The photo is from three years ago.

He never asked where Otabek is from, but he learns that it's Almaty, Kazakhstan, as stamped in the photo's location.

He's not at all sure of where Almaty is, so he does an internet search and finds it's in the south eastern portion of Kazakhstan.

He also likes all three pictures and hopes Otabek gets that that means he has to like at least 3 of Yuri's in return. It's proper etiquette.

Before he sleeps, he does accept JJ's offer for a ride. 

There's an extensive search involved, but he also manages to send Mila that one gif of a cat filing its nails, except this one's edited to have that acrylic bullshit Mila lost her pinky nail to. 

  
  


Spring

  
  


Yakov spends breakfast on the phone a few mornings later. Apparently one of his teen students broke their damn ankle. Yuri chews quietly to get the scoop from the loud voice on the other end of the call. He couldn't imagine going out like that. 

Until Yakov gets fed up enough he has to pace the hallway. While he's gone, Yuri feeds pieces of sausage to Potya. She stabs his shins with her nails in her eagerness for more. Yakov doesn't like Potya at the table.

JJ giving him rides to the theater turns into an almost everyday occurrence. His arrivals always documented with obscure pop culture references Yuri sometimes doesn't get and spur of the moment greetings. Yuri's personal **least** favorite is what he sends this morning:

 **_Your chariot awaits, Princess_ ** _._ (JJ purposely italicized the words to send to him)

 **I will break your fucking ankles 🔨** Yuri's motivated to and does send back.

"Here, I got you this," JJ says the moment he sees Yuri's face.

JJ pats his palm on the lid of one of the cups in the holders between them. His own is from home, and yet he stopped to get Yuri caffeinated gift..

Yuri stares at the cup as he climbs in. He looks at JJ as his eyes crinkle and his nose wiggles and his mouth is spread into a mischievously curved smile as he starts the car and gets moving.

He doesn't need the navigation to get to the theater anymore.

"How fucking nice of you." 

"It's sugar and milk and probably a dash of espresso so I figured you'd like it enough not to glare at me the whole ride."

"This won't distract me from your terrible driving," Yuri says flatly. It's supposed to be a joke, he's only semi serious. 

JJ snorts.

"Sats you, who can't even drive!"

"Well, why should I when I have you," Yuri mocks. He halfway expects JJ to make his slip up of over valuing JJ to his face a topic of conversation.

"I can't argue with-"JJ starts and doesn't finish because Yuri's got his knees bent to his chest and his feet bent up and prepared to be propped right on the dashboard.

JJ jumps into action for that. The car swerves a little. "Nope!"

"What the hell?" Yuri exclaims, reaching out for JJ in turn.

JJ maneuvers his ankles down awkwardly. His shoes knock against the radio and fuck up the bluetooth setting.

"We don't sit like that in cars," JJ concludes with earnesty. With his nose up. The exceedingly mundane action calling a passion out of him.

"And why not?" Yuri prompts.

JJ points a long finger in the air. "Precaution for one. Looking at your feet up there makes me scared to drive," he admits. "And put your seatbelts on, you don't hear that beeping?"

Then he drums the steering wheel and musters up a madcap voice to say "and because you've gotta respect my baby."

"Otabek's not even that worried and he rides a bike," Yuri reasons, petty but not looking to change JJ's mind. Though JJ doesn't take the bait either way. Yuri's never even been on his bike.

JJ groans like it's been a topic of discomfort for him long before Yuri's mentioning of it. It's guttural and vaguely intriguing. 

Yuri stares at him. He eyes him from his thighs and back to his face and wonders if, of all things, Otabek driving a motorcycle is what peeves him. Nothing else?

"I don't know how he rides that thing, it's a death trap. And He says the fact that he wears glasses doesn't make a difference in his case, but as his best friend, it's my job to fear for him when his parents can't be available."

JJ goes dark and mutters to the side at Yuri. "I've seen those dashcam videos."

"Could that be considered offensive?"

"I don't know, sorry," JJ shrugs. He drops a hand to the bottom of the steering wheel and uses the other to reach over and nudge Yuri's shoulder to prompt him. "You can one thing about Canadians and I won't be mad."

"I don't know shit about Canadians."

"Well, you know me?"

"And that's enough Canada I fucking need." Yuri huffs dramatically, leans to the door to avoid JJ's fist.

"Well, I promise I won't tease you for admitting to needing me." JJ's excited to fuck with him, Yuri can hear it in his voice. "Just know, I have plenty to say."

  
  


Spring 

A Midsummer comes and goes quicker than Yuri's okay with, nothing even remotely special happening over the course of those few days. Outside of dancing, but that's not enough. He needs the recognition. He does his part, feeling like a glorified extra perfectly, like just about everyone else, and then he goes home to rest. Still covered in his makeup and all, cursing everything and everyone in JJ's passenger seat.

Not particularly related with life, but not really bothered. Still waiting. He's hopeful…kind of accepting too? 

Yeah, that's it. 

It's quiet. Like it always is in Yakov's house, but for once Yuri feels quiet inside too. He's not even sure why he's awake. Not even Potya has begun chirping for his attention.

When the buzzing noise becomes apparent, he ignores it for a while. Lying on his back, blanket kicked to the foot of his bed at some time in the night and realing the white cotton shorts he sleeps in and just how much his shirt shifts in his slumber. There's a gleam of sweat over him because Yakov's house is doesn't have air conditioning. His ass is nearly numb from the position.

His phone starts buzzing again. Yuri counts the seconds until it ends. At total of 33 go by.

Someone must really want to speak to him, which makes no sense, because Yuri's certain he's never given anyone reason to call him first thing in the morning like this. What would they even want from him? Lilia, maybe?

Regretfully and curiously the caller ends up being fucking Victor. And it's 7 am.

Yuri slides onto the floor, and rolls himself onto the rug so he can lie there and cool off, like Potya does in the rays of sunlight that poke through his shades and warm slits of his skin in their path.

He considers calling Victor back for a moment. He doesn't even contemplate answering, but the missed call notifications make him curious. 

Yuri must be projecting his callow understanding of life when he thinks Victor wouldn't want anything from him, despite his carefully chosen words of assurance. In reality he's the one who feels the need to be ignored. Like Victor shouldn't want anything to do with him.

And yet, there's his name.

He calls Victor back and leaves the phone on the floor, turning his head to align his face with the screen. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing calling me this fucking early?"

"Come for lunch?" Victor says, no preface or explanation to follow. "With me and Yuuri."

"Lunch?" Yuri echoes.

"Really, just a simple lunch," Victor promises.

Yuri bites his lip. He manages to not think.

"Sure, whatever."

He agrees out of slight pressure and anxiety. Curiosity too because he wants to see for himself how sappy and endearing Victor's life has gotten. He hasn't spoken to or seen Victor in a few weeks, maybe. The days tend to bleed together when he's not doing anything special. He's not as pissy as he was that night, so he has no reason to turn down food.

And just like that, he has a lunch date with a couple. He knows it's both of them because Victor sounds too ecstatic for it to be Yuri's presence that motivates his elation.

He's just about asleep again, right on the floor, molding into the rug, when his phone buzzes, pressed disgustingly against his face, and it's JJ. Always right on time to annoy.

It's a selfie of him with a red and black guitar in his lap.

Yuri rolls over onto his stomach and lies on his his elbow to studies it long enough that eventually his eyes shift from the guitar, his vision drifting to study the form of JJ's olive bright and bare skin. His hair is messy, but his smile is wide. Both his hands are in the picture, and he looks like he's on his own couch, so it must be Otabek's work. 

How many instruments can they play between the two of them? And why are they doing so at 7 in the fucking morning? 

Does JJ take selfies just to send to Yuri for nothing?

**Good Morning :)**

**Go to fucking sleep** Yuri sends back. His day off is also JJ's day off. They're not leading or anything for any upcoming shows so there's nothing too pressing to be up for.

 **It's too nice a day for sleep!** He replies.

Yuri opens his front camera and sticks his tongue out at the lense.

  
  


Spring 

  
  


"Yurio!" Victor chimes, swinging the door open wide and stepping in the threshold and leaning coquettish onto the door. 

Victor's used to be a master at the dead eyed beaming smile, but somehow, it's gotten a lot better since Yuuri Katsuki. The last several months have been good to him. Yuri takes notice standing in the doorway to Victor's apartment. 

A building that has a door man inside, paneled walls and fancy light fixtures above accent tables in the hallways. He's got on an white apron, signed in English cursive with the words "Hottest thing in the kitchen." (Underline included)

And he holds undisturbed eye contact with Yuri that lasts several nearly awkward seconds too long for Yuri not to glower. First he's an image of mischief. He's smug. He goes soft and slight smiled when Yuri sighs at him.

"What am I doing here?" 

"Well, I invited you for lunch, so I assume to eat?" Victor waves out a limp hand.

"Fine, where's the food?" Yuri asks.

He stomps under Victor's arm and makes a bee line to the couch, dropping his backpack to the floor just next to the arm, and flings himself down amongst the cushions and throw pillows on Victor's pink-beige couch.

He tugs off his converse and props his feet onto the oversized ottoman Victor has as a coffee table. There's a sleek, wooden tray on it to balance anything important or fragile. 

"Yuuri made Katsudon," Victor says, coming close enough to pat Yuri's head. "It's Japanese."

Victor's so excited it's in the air, even when he stops beaming to make a regular face. It's in how perky his walk around the pillar connected to the half wall that separates him from the kitchen. 

Where Yuuri's stands over the island doing something Yuri hadn't paid enough attention to to say what.

The confusion and mild shame he feels for their insufferable, but inevitable, heart to heart in front of Yakov's house hasn't entirely subsided in the last couple of weeks. The saving grace being that Victor is just as much an adult is Yuri is still a kid, and he's probably not going to bring it up just to fuck with Yuri.

"Come, come, Yurio."

"I'm going to murder you if you call me Yurio one more time!"

Victor comes back when Yuri doesn't follow. He wraps his hands around Yuri's arms and hauls him off the couch with a rough tug. 

First, he's ignored for the ease of Identifying his "own" Yuuri, then he's forced about like a child. This isn't what Yuri meant by Victor being "here." Still, it's hard to stay pissed at him with how capable he is of switching on the humanly happy version of himself.

"We're gonna eat at the table like an actual family because this is Yuuri's favorite meal."

"Stop handling me, fuck." Yuri tugs in opposition. Victor still doesn't let go. Not until they've gotten to the dining table Victor has tucked into the rectangle open space of his apartment. Between kitchen and his couch. 

Right opposite the tall windows and sheer curtain over them. It's bright and the white walls have a pristine glare. 

Yuri limply allows himself to drop into whatever chair Victor brings him to.

And then he's gone away again, leaving Yuri to shuffle around for a comfortable position, where his legs fold under him and he slouches. Tucking and brushing his hair back behind his ears and down his back. It's really gotten too long and right now, while the sun makes it look very yellow against his skin, he has no choice but to notice it as a method of busying himself.

Victor uses the word family so loosely. And to describe time with him and Yuuri at that...Yuri's got very minimal family and can remember no one outside of grandpa calling him as such. His mother's been gone so long she might as well not exist.

"Hi, Yurio."

Yuri looks up and makes immediate eye contact with Yuuri and it doesn't waver as he tries his hardest not to make this awkward. It might come off as rude sometimes, but everything has a tradeoff. He can get mean when he's comfortable.

"Was it your idea or his?" Yuri asks.

He's setting Japanese utensils in front of him, a pair of chop sticks. Next to them he leaves a fork. Handling the damn things with care. He moves carefully and quickly. 

"Mine," Yuuri nods. He adjusts his glasses and sighs. "It was mine, but Victor wants you to be here too."

Victor appears with bowls, one balanced in the crook of his arm. He set them down before two seat opposite Yuri and saves Yuri for Last. It's pork, with egg fried in, over a bed of rice and doused in some light gravy. It smells good, admittedly, better than Yuri expects.

Victor stands over him. "Take a bite! It's really good, Yurio. You'll love it."

Yuri frowns, his brows draw inward, but he picks up his chopsticks and fumbles with them under the amused gaze of Yuuri who demonstrates how to hold them from the other side of the table. 

Silently, as it becomes obvious by looking that Yuri doesn't know how to use them..

"Here," Victor takes one first and places it between two fingers, as Yuuri speaks. "Make sure this one stays stationary. Very still. Like foundation."

"And this one is the one you move. Between your index and thumb."

He nearly says something mean. Preferring to just use a damn fork, but tightens his lips instead and keeps it to himself. Though, Yuuri did give him the option. He glances at the fork, then at them.

They're being too happy. Too nice. He doesn't know how to respond, but fuck does whatever Victor just bought in smell good and he's fucking dying because it taste just as good. No, better.

He doesn't have time to converse. Victor takes his seat opposite a chair Makkachin hops into, slow and steady, like she just has dinner with Victor like this all the time. She sits up with her tongue out stupidly. Yuuri and Victor gawk together at Yuri over his surprised and confused face.

He shoves food in his mouth with the bowl pretty damn close because his chopsticks keep going wonky. Victor wasn't lying.

But Yuri's not so clueless that he's easily pacified by food. It's mostly the way Victor looks at him, but also kind of the way he moves too. Sitting closer to Yuuri than necessary. 

Their elbow brush occasionally and neither one of them moves to adjust. The small quiet comments one of them makes that the other acknowledges with a gesture just as subtle. They eat slow and share glances before looking at him.

Yuri's not that verse on relationships and body language, but somehow he feels like he's intruding on something he was invited to.

It lasts for as long as it takes Makkachin to get down and come to him, raise onto her hein legs and use his thigh to stare him down. Greedily eye his bowl too. That inspires a round of amused and gratified looks. She's too big, but Yuri can feel the weakness of age in her movements. He stabs the last slice of pork with his chopstick and hangs it out so Makkachin can gobble at it. 

The remaining rice in his bowl goes untouched. All five grains of it. 

"When the hell did you two get so cozy?"

"Huh?" Yuuri flushes. Victor looks at him and sits up proudly.

"When Yuuri needed me to help him dance better. Now we're engaged." 

"Oh my god," Yuuri mutters. His head drops into his palms to hide the flush on his cheeks.

"The fuck, you are?" Yuri shakes his head and tugs at blond ends. Victor chuckles at him and lays his chin in his hand, leaning across the table to pet Yuri. There's a golden band on his finger to confirm it.

Makkachin barks at him, but Yuri ignores her pawing at him. There is a small growl growing in her that ends in a loud whine. 

"It's not that kind of engagement!" Yuuri blurts out. Hands flat out and waving nervously. "Victor's been helping me, and well, I guess…"

"Don't be bashful, Yuuri. Yurio's feisty, but he's smart enough." 

"Yeah, thanks, asshole!"

Yuri hasn't known Yuuri very long, but he is fairly easy to read. His feelings practically radiate off of him like a scent. It's almost like an intrusion to know so obviously when something is on his mind. He keeps to himself and adverts his eyes. He might as well lay down the damn egg shells and start walking.

None of which is a surprise. Yuri is sure that it is his presence that inspires it to an extent.

The two of them talk more at him then as he's been depleted of all his energy to insult them because of the food and their idiocy. 

Yuri doesn't offer to help with the dishes, but Victor goes to shower -in the middle of the day right after fucking lunch- and Yuri wants to drag him back and curse at him for even trying to leave. But he doesn't do that and he has to do something. 

As the link between the two of them, Yuri and his Yuuri, Yuri bites his tongue and lets the look he gives Victor do the talking. The bastard wants him to stay here. 

Yuuri clears his throat and "thanks for helping" follows. He's shoveling leftover rice into a glass container. After setting the rice cooker -which Victor no doubt has BECAUSE of Yuuri- aside, he does the same with the frying pan of pork cutlets.

Yuri makes himself useful by scraping the bowls clean into the trash, sometimes allowing Makkachin to get her to way, but she persists more as it goes. The more tastes he gives her. Are dogs supposed to eat the things he's given her? God, she is old, so it might be just a bit bad.

When he's finally got all the dishes in the sink, she sits at his feet, her face upright on his thigh. Things run out before she's satisfied, and she hasn't moved an inch.. Yuri tries shuing her, but she's old and slow, and insists on noses at his legs and licking hands as he attempts to redirect her towards literally anywhere else. 

"Old mutt," he whispers, softly taking hold of her flank and turning her gently. She's not the strongest at fighting it. Her nails hit the floor with a soft _clink._

Yuri just doesn't understand dogs as she fucking just turns back. He groans tiredly. He's too tall for her to stick his nose in his crotch, but he has to bend his knees to steer her away and eventually she gets there.

"Oh," Yuuri sighs, Yuri can see the smile on his face in a once over he does over his shoulders. Yuuri chuckles under his breath. "I should feed her now, actually."

"God, please do." Yuri slumps in his stance as Yuuri leads the dog away with claps of his hands and baby talk of all things.

"I guess you're not a dog person, huh?" 

"Cats are just all around better.."

With his sleeves up to his elbows, the water running down his wrists dampens them anyway when Yuri takes them.

Yuuri wears the gloves. He scrubs the dishes and rinses them off while Yuri sets them into the dishwasher rack from his seat on the counter, bending to reach and gripping the edges with his free hand to keep from slipping. Yuuri doesn't protest it the way Victor would about having his ass on the counter not being civilized, but Yuri's almost certain Victor's not above much worst things.

He stares into the air at the thought. That disgusting dream he had a while back comes to mind. His fingers grip the counter below him just a bit harder. That same chair is just across the room. 

Yuuri placing something into the dishwasher himself brings Yuri back to his reality here. 

Yuuri smiles at him, it's small and forgiving. 

Yuri wants to ask if he's shacking up here or not. 

Why is he even sitting here? If he were younger, Yuri might have had more to say. Granted, it'd be his over observant and filterless vulgarity as compensation for feeling doubted. 

"What was that dish called?"

He makes conversation out of nothing and he saves the bullshit for JJ, who actually needs it.

"Oh, back home we call it Kastudon. It's just a meat over rice dish. With egg and other stuff. I guess you could make it with any meat, but pork tastes the best to me."

Yuri nods, leaning back and resting his head against the cupboard once the dishes are all loaded. Yuuri does get pretty close, but it's solely to turn on the setting and get the damn machine going. So he doesn't adjust himself too much. 

He's bent at his side, the light and feathery crown of hair flips over and brushes Yuri's jeans as he pushes the rack back into the dishwasher. Yuri goes stiff, but remains still. What shows comfort or understanding more, avoiding touch entirely by moving out of courtesy or staying put despite closeness just to keep from possibly offending?

He's not supposed to be thinking of Yuuri and how best not make this interaction the worst thing ever. 

"Yurio?"

"Huh?" He is, in fact, supposed to be protesting that fucking name.

There is a second of silence before Yuuri bsucks in a breath and says "I'm sure Victor respects you, more than you realize."

He quiets. His face is hot and Yuri can tell despite how he hangs his head slightly. He says it like it's something Yuri absolutely needs to hear. He disrupts the silence for it and then fills it with work. Throwing the gloves to the back of the sink, unplugging the drain...

"He fucking better, Kastudon." If Yuri has to be called anything other than his name, then so does _Victor's Yuuri._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, what is editing, I'm so tired ;_;
> 
> I've never completely written or posted a long fic, so I do hope this is going well to you guys and that you like it at least aaah >.<


	7. engaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek looks around. He pulls his glasses off his face and, like an asshole, he says "Is there something else to get on?"

Summer

When Yuri climbs into JJ's car, he's listening to something Yuri absolutely knows from childhood. A movie, maybe? He can't remember what it is, but it sparks some nostalgia in him. Still, he can't place it. Maybe that's wrong...

"Hey, blondie." JJ says, so sure of himself and that Yuri wouldn't punch him for it. Yuri does, though, and then JJ smiles like he's been looking forward to it. The creep. 

He reaches over and flips a finger's width of hair over Yuri's shoulder despite Yuri attempt at knocking his hand away.

"I hate parking on the left…" he mumbles under his breath, absently to the air. Once in the street, JJ looks at Yuri and grins. "What are you doing Wednesday night?" 

"I don't know, dancing?" Yuri offers as a real possibility.

He's not peeved about anything this morning. If anything, he's quite content if his feelings had to be vaguely described. 

There comes a point in the hot season that Yuri doesn't dance as much as he used to. Not because he doesn't want to, there just isn't much happening at the theater. Show's don't run for weeks, back to back like they do in the winter and the majority of the business is showing up for magic shows, concerts and fucking operas.

Random shit like that.

"Ooh. You wanna skip out this week?" JJ asks.

But more and more these damn social interactions with people outside of Yakov and Lilia, the occasional Victor appearance, are actually keeping him interested. In his lap, in his Insta notes, Otabek responds exactly how Yuri hoped he would and then some.

JJ goes on before Yuri can say anything.

"Because, I have a show with the band and this is me formally inviting you."

It's strange to no longer have his free time split between sleep and school work. Now he has to keep from over sleeping, but that's not as hard a task as it would typically be now that he's got JJ at his disposal and everyone else in his life seems to be just as free. Or, that JJ has Yuri at his disposal would be the more correct version of that sentiment.

If there's anything Yuri learns in the few months he's been cordial with JJ, it's that the guy does more than a lot. He keeps busy better than anyone. Not the type to stay in bed once he's awake or waste a minute of valuable time. And he values time by the energy he has to do just about anything, at any point.

Now Yuri knows Jean-Jacques Leroy is in a band and it doesn't even sound like a lie.

"You're in a fucking band?" Yuri deadpans. "How are you so at home and involved here, in MY country?"

"Well, someone's slacking on their instastalking," JJ accuses. "Russia doesn't belong to you!"

"You can barely read street signs!"

"My band mates are a diverse bunch, and we all get by just fine, thank you."

JJ flashes his pearly teeth at Yuri.

All of that is in addition to the english he picks up. He knows more about JJ than he set out to. The music JJ listens to, the way he speaks and his hobbies. 

There's an new English rock song on the bluetooth, a song JJ hums to occasionally. Bobbing his head and wiggling his finger against the wheel. Yuri not listening to the words closely, but apparently JJ likes it.

Yuri stares at him. Glaring.

"Who are you?"

"Your savior. So how about it? We on for Wednesday?"

In between JJ and Otabek, his attention falters. JJ speaks, Yuri listens but he keeps his eyes in his lap and counts the photos that Otabek likes in his notifications. 

A total of 11. Not consecutive posts either, the oldest in his like spam being from last year. Yuri's posted a lot of pics for him to have scrolled all the way back to August of last Year, but it inspires more excitement than suspicion within him. A pleasant feeling, not unlike flattery.

Yuri almost grins.

"Otabek's gonna go, maybe you can go with him."

Okay, he officially grins.

Yuri adjust himself in the seat, nearly attempting to put his feet on the dashboard, but JJ hates that and will gladly reach over and throw him down if Yuri tempts him. 

Yuri looks at him. Watching the road, mumbling this damn song under his breath. His head bobs and while his hands and feet works. He's so...content.

Inviting Yuri to a show he's having with his stupid cover band like it's an exclusive event not to be missed. As if there needed to be more shit JJ's good at, guitar playing and song writing are added to the list Yuri keeps track of in his head. So the room with the grey sheets and quilt halfway to the floor was his apparently.

"Why would I want that?" He blurts out, locking his phone and dropping it into his lap. "You'll probably sing shit I don't know anyway."

"So what! Some people won't know every song. That's hardly a problem, it just is. Plus, that's not even the point. It's in a club and it's something to do, which I know will be more fun than whatever it is you do on a regular basis, without me, anyway."

"Maybe I just don't fucking want to?"

"Oh, you want to. Admit it, Plisetsky. You've gotta be there to support your friends."

At Yuri's silence, JJ keeps trying. He tosses a quick glance at Yuri and drums on his steering wheel as the traffic light ahead slows him to a stop. "Well, then, it's my birthday and you're not allowed to say no anyway."

"Today's your birthday?" Yuri snorts, and then stares at him for an actual answer because it's not like he knows JJ's birthday yet and can't deny that it very well could be.

"Nah, it's the day of. This Wednesday. My point still stands though," JJs insists, voice going serious to say, "still, I want you to go."

Yuri purses his lips at that. An air of guilt washing over him. He's not opposed to going, he's just being difficult, which feels bad to do when JJ says things like that. Like, "I want you to-" to just about anything. He's really going weak if honest words, soft tones and light persistence are all it takes to win him over. 

But the feeling doesn't last long because Yuri knows better than anything else in Russia that JJ is driven by blinding confidence and something else just as potent. His heart's on his sleeve.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Great!" JJ sings, pressing his foot on the gas. The car speeds up and Yuri's throat gets just a bit dry as he sinks harder into his seat. JJ looks over and winks as Yuri's resting scowl turns livid and he just has to yell.

"You'll get to see my Les Paul, baby."

"JJ, please!"

" _ Doo doo, do do, do do doo, do do doo, do do doo, doo doo _ ," JJ sings, slapping his fingers to the wheel.

Summer

Just as before, Yuri finds himself next to JJ, getting lectured at by their Mistress. Anna says she's pleased with A Midsummer's turn out, but JJ expresses how it feels like she isn't. She sounds displeased, but Yuri recognizes it as a Lilia thing too. She's not displeased, it's just over with. They've got to get back to serious work at some point. All their superiors are like that.

She introduces a dark hair man, Alexei that Yuri recognizes from shows he's attended in the past. 

Victor's going to be involved with the choreography. She shares that last.

JJ doesn't stick around for long after their day ends. He says he's gotta get somewhere to practice something else. His music, Yuri figures. But that's okay because Yuri settles on stage, reading about The Four Temperaments and curious as to whether he could impress Anna, or that Alexei guy, enough to be involved. It's not heavy on dancers but the entire thing is pure dance without all the pomp of shit like The Nutcracker.

The kind of ambition he's so accustomed to is looked down upon as an adult. No one will smile and chalk his antics up to youth. But who is he without weaponizing his youth? Would she tell him to wait his turn and play his role because he's 18 and Yuuri and the other soloists are well into their 20s and pull rank? And if he is fit for any role, how fucked up is it that he attempts to prove it? If anything, it should serve as a reminder to not get fucking comfortable.

There are no 18 year old principals. There are barely any 25 year old principals and that happens to be Victor's record. The youngest in the world at his crowning.

In the case the Yuri went for it anyway, would Anna find it offensive? Victor would, with a very passive aggressive aura of encouragement too. Unless, of course, Yuri was just perfect for the role. Neither of them could deny talent. 

Right? 

Since when does he question his own ability to captivate anyone?

He's mostly alone. The chatter from beyond the stage is receding. Yuri listens to them until they're gone. 

It's not the most exciting show ever, but it's Balanchine and his name itself holds such weight. It's raw enough that there would be any extravagant elements to take from the task of embodying of temperaments and truly captivating everyone by just dancing. 

It'd be so perfect an opportunity for him.

Yuri chews his lips and groans through the way it stings when the skin cracks at the enter. How long does he have to fucking wait for some actual action? Victor's still got a tarp sized poster hanging from the ceiling in the lobby.

The synopsis flies out on the floor and slides away on air. He flops down onto his back and holds his hands over his eyes. Mostly to block out the spotlights above, but with the way his eyes burn it's probably more than a response to the brightness.

It's quiet. He's the only one left on the stage. There's nothing else scheduled for the day, so no one should be coming back to bother him in his exclusive, pity party. There's nothing wrong, progress is just slow and he's gotta find a way to speed it up. 

The empty theater welcomes him silently. In which his groans are just gilded sorrows, because he's in a rush yet again. Every noise is a cry that echoes from him to the hundreds of seats before him and back.

Of course, he's not alone though, that wouldn't be his luck.

"How are you, Yurio?" 

"Alive." Yuri says to the air above him. It's a harsh and frustrated squeak.

Yuuri has the synopsis in his hand when Yuri opens his eyes, crawling up to lean on his elbows and lying his head on his shoulder. He can feel his hair graze the floor and his back where it meets the surface beneath him, growing entirely too long. "All of us aren't engaged."

Yuuri stands naturally with his toes pointed slightly inward. He's Victor's visual foil as well as his other half. All his features are dark, and he's not loud and boisterous. He's reserved and shy, in all honesty. Maybe Melancholic fits them both. But, like the other dancers that Yuri hopes to win roles over, Yuuri is strong and his muscles, even while relaxed, hold a sculpted shape that Yuri doesn't have all over yet. He's not as bulky. He's slender.

"Well, that's something to be celebrated, I guess," Yuuri murmurs. He scratches the back of his head and crouches down to fall back onto the floor. "And we're not engaged, really!"

"Victor's more convincing," Yuri jabs. 

"Did he quit dancing because of you too?" It's low, but Yuri just wants to see what Yuuri says. He's so obviously a horrible liar that it's all the more inspiring.

"It's definitely not like that, Yurio." Yuuri stutters. He pauses for a while, eyes at a X marked in masking tape between then. "He didn't talk to you about it, did he?" He finally asks.

Yuri blinks, holding eye contact with Yuuri for a while before shaking his head. Had Victor spoken to anyone?

Well, he tried to talk to Yuri. And Yuri was selfish in return. He ran away.

His mouth gapes for a moment, closing only to make room for Yuuri's input.

"Well, Victor decided to stop on his own. I mean, I do idolize him and maybe that is just fuel to this, but he says he's happy to have done it and left the impression that he has."

"And you believe him?"

"I think he's okay just...being with it?" Yuuri grimaces. His face relaxes and he sighs, as if exhaling the doubt and mustering up the ability to speak more firmly. "You know, helping people be better."

_ By helping you be better?  _ Yuri doesn't put him on the spot for those words. He keeps his mouth shut.

"And all I can do is support his decisions as he makes them. He's happy with this and I'd never shun him just to make a point."

Yuri lies back down, silent. The light above leave dark circles in his vision and in his finger tips he can feel the pulse of his life in the skin over his stomach, hardened by work. He knows for sure now that all he ever feels, in his anger and tension towards Victor, and Yuuri by association, is certainly jealousy. 

Oh, well then. What could he do?

More pressing than all that, Yuri knows that Victor is infatuated and maybe in love, who the fuck knows, but stupid too. Stupid and impulsive and probably desperate for some attention that doesn't stand as conditional to his talents.

"Now he wants to get fucking married," Yuri snorts, and laughs. He stops just as quickly as he starts because Yuuri seems so sure of himself right now and he couldn't possibly ruin it before pushing the limits of Yuuri's honesty. His curiosity just begs him to.

"Now you two are in fucking love, or what? You do realize this is Russia, right? Being a dancer is like, the finest line you can toe without a hate crime."

"Okay, so the engagement thing is a little out of the blue. We ran with it in the moment, but I think I'm the one who stopped to consider it more." Yuuri's smile goes sheepish and eventually disappears. Yuri can see the band on his finger, bright with a certain newness. 

"But you assholes still went and got rings?"

"It's not an engagement ring, It's just a regular band. Nothing special."

Yuuri has no idea how much Yuri hates the way he can get so visibly down on himself. Nothing about him more pitiful than when he looks all forlorn and hopeless. It just won't fucking do.

"I guess self doubt isn't that surprising from me though."

"Oh, please, stop. If you like, love him or whatever, just admit it! Playing coy is stupid at this point."

Yuri rolls his eyes, sitting up and crawling to snatch the paper in Yuri's hands. On the back of it are, quite literally, the four temperaments and their descriptions. The way Balanchine meant them to be interpreted.

He shoves it in Yuuri's face and yells.

"And Victor didn't make you a fucking soloist!" 

Then he drops the paper in Yuuri's lap and lies down on the floor again. Closer this time. His hip practically brushing Yuuri's thigh. 

"Victor can't make you great, he just makes you wanna be great." 

"Greater," Yuri says a beat later.

Yuuri gapes at him, prepared to protest, but he blushes and shuts his mouth rightly. Yuri feels validated by the incident.

"You gotta do your best for you, not fucking Victor. He'll always just be fucking good. Too good to understand it."

Yuri's hot. His outburst makes his heart race and his skin flush, but he doesn't make to hide his face or move away. There's no point in hiding from Yuuri, or the soft eyed look he gives. 

Maybe Yuuri can read him just as well and Yuri can read him.

"You've known him a long time, huh Yurio?"

"Half my fucking life, Katsudon." More than actually.

Not half as well as he wished he did sometimes, but it's accurate enough. Yuri pulls himself up and parts his legs wide. He might as well do what he does best in the idle moments. 

  
  


Summer

When he leaves the theater, the newer and glass formed structure built just on the other side of the river from the original Mariinsky, there are several things on his mind, none of which involve Victor, Yuuri or anyone else with the ability to root and take over. 

One being that his hair has gotten much too long. It's straight and gets way too oily when he doesn't wash it for longer than two days. The ponytails and buns don't curl it much but leave a very light wave. He should hit up a salon or something. He never treats himself to that. Maybe he wouldn't have those split ends if he did.

Two being that he should probably get a fucking day job or hobby. Maybe start using that yoga mat in his closet or teaching a dance class or something like that. Yakov could set that up...maybe Lilia still wants him around. Anything he can freign expertise in. Start jogging again? Expert jogging?

There's also the recurring thoughts of needing to check on Mila, more than just a few texts at a time. He keeps thinking that he misses her presence. And grandpa too, it's been a little long. Finally, he knows Yuuri's not the worse fucking person, so that's relieving.

JJ's to blame and so is Otabek because here he is, helmet and glasses making him unrecognizable. Rolling up the street, the roar of his engine swiveling Yuri's head around on his shoulders. Yuri doesn't know his lips well enough to pick them out on the street, and of course he doesn't have his leather jacket, it's much too hot for that. He has a denim one instead, his arms bare below the sleeves rolled around his elbow. 

Yuri stumbles weakly on the short platforms of his sneakers, staring back as Otabek rolls to a stop where Yuri stops walking. 

"Yuri, want a ride?"

Just like that, all smooth and random, Otabek drives up out of fucking nowhere.

"On that thing?"

Otabek looks around. He pulls his glasses off his face and, like an asshole, he says "Is there something else to get on?"

Yuri's middle finger is up when Otabek grabs a helmet off the bike and tosses it at him before Yuri can retort, any sarcastic nonsense dies in his throat as he catches the thing between his hands. 

"For real?"

"Yeah."

"I've never been on a motorcycle."

Otabek nods carelessly. "I'll drive slow."

"Fine, then."

Yuri has to pull the topknot out to put the helmet on comfortably. Otabek watches him unswervingly as he shakes it hair out of being twisted around and tugs the helmet over his head.

It feels weird to fall on the pillion and slide in close. His thighs brushing Otabek's and his chest briefly against the guy's back as Yuri attempts to make himself comfortable. He's just light enough to fall into Otabek's mass with ease, nearly flush against him, but Yuri uses his feet as leverage.

"Here," Otabek reaches back, open handed and waiting. "Let me see your hands?"

When Yuri puts them out at Otabek's sides for him to pull his arms around his waist. Otabek says he can hold onto his side or clasps his hands against his stomach, placing Yuri's hands as demonstration before letting go.

"Cool." Yuri says. It's shaky and forced, but Otabek doesn't react if he notices. He's way too close. This is oddly intimate and nothing he thought of when he hopped on.

"Cool."

Neither option is the most comforting, but Yuri chooses to hold his sides with his fists, which changes when Otabek actually presses at the gas and Yuri jolts suddenly, they move faster than Yuri expects and unlike in a car, all the wind just breezes over his entire body and what feels like fear is actually a deep seated excitement when they hit an actual road. Otabek doesn't tense up when Yuri ties his fingers around each other and the sides of his wrist lay against his stomach.

"Are you okay?"

Yuri nods before he remembers that Otabek can't see that. "I'm fine!"

Otabek doesn't drive as slow as he says, but the air whipping past Yuri is probably an inaccurate attest to that. He's never been on a motorcycle. His hair flies around behind him, what of it is exposed. He's pulled close against Otabek, closer than he initially was, but the turn he makes does tilt Yuri more than he's prepared for. 

His clasped hands press against Otabek's abdomen in varying levels of tensity. His middle is rigid, but Yuri can feel the tightening and expansion every time he breathes.

It cycles on like that until they stop. Then start again and his hair flies around with the wind, singing in his ears some more. The street is wide, but there isn't much traffic. What traffic there is keeps a steady pace. Keeping Otabek at a steady pace.

"Where were you on your way to?" Otabek's voice carries in the wind.

"I don't know." Yuri admits. He didn't have a solid destination in mind when he hopped on the bike after all.

"You don't know?" Otabek says, but he's driving down Ulitsa Dekabristov as if he's got a purpose. He's kidnapping him. They pass the Kawai just one long ass block from the theater and the sun disappears behind buildings. 

"I guess I would have just gone home, but I wasn't in a rush."

"Do you wanna go with me then?"

"You're already on your way there, jerk!"

"It didn't feel like you'd say no."

The entire way is covered in shadow until Otabek turns on Voznesensky Ave and heads for the Moyka.

Otabek's helmet keeps the wind out of Yuri's eyes well enough if he lines up right with Otabek's form. Whirling around them as Otabek drives through each gust, it also carries the clean scent of soap right off of Otabek. In such close proximity, it's hard not to breath it in as deeply as he does.

Yuri looks at the hair creeping out of place along the back of his neck, not as neat as it was a few weeks ago as its growing. An undercut no more. His olive skin, tanned by the hot season's sun, is blemish free. To add to his image, whatever it is, is complete with an aura of grandeur. But Yuri's missing something. Otabek doesn't wear his heart or anything else on his sleeve, obviously. Not like JJ.

He does grasp onto his sanity just enough to pull back from practically sniffing the boy before him. Instead, focusing on the sensation of being exposed to the world and yet only parallel to it from there on the bike. The city looks better when he's zooming by like this. Where people see him for just a second, right there in front of them, and then he's gone. He could get used to it.

"I've been meaning to get back here." Otabek says, turning a corner and pulling into an empty space underneath a tree. 

It's sunny and not cold by any means, but as Yuri is climbing off the bike, back leg sliding passed Otabek with very clear contact, his knee to the top of Otabek's ass. He's just a little chilly in his t-shirt and understands that Otabek is right to wear an extra layer. He hops once to stabilize his balance, coming onto both legs. Leopard print shoes, and the 4 centimeter white sole, scoffing on the ground.

"And where the hell is "here"?" Yuri asks, stepping closer to the bike and out of the street. He hopes that the helmet hasn't flattened knots into his hair.

Otabek pulls the key out of the ignition and sits back in a lazy slouch. "A hair cut. Bon's right here."

"I've been thinking of cutting my hair too."

"Oh. I guess this is your chance then."

"How fucking convenient. Are you a mind reader too?" Yuri scoffs. He rolls his eyes and spins on his heels. Otabek's keys jingle in his hand as he hops up and follows along, right on Yuri's tail. 

"Amongst other things." Yuri ignores the astute smirk he wears..

Bon looks expensive, is Yuri's first thought. His second is that he hates how much he loves the look. It's pretentious enough of a place that it would be no surprise if it was immoderately expensive. Simplistic in the way of being a little bare, but overachieving in design to compensate.

The room mimics a circular tunnel, rounded wall on one side. The opposite comes out of the curve and flattens to a wall of mirrors. None of them separated, it is, quite literally, a wall of glass. The counter, much like the mirrors, is a straight line of table, never ending until there is just no more counter to go. There are several chairs spread out along the display.

"It's on me for kidnapping you." Otabek says to him.

If there was any doubt before, it dissipates quickly as Yuri decides he's definitely getting his hair cut today. It's in stone at Otabek's offer to treat, because Yuri not one to turn down treats.

A true simple pleasure that people always forget is to have another wash your hair. Yuri loves that shit. 

Yuri sits and waits while Otabek gets his layers cut into the top and the clippers taken to his over growing undercut. occasionally making eye contact with him in the mirror. Occasionally when the stylist turns his chair and Otabek is actually capable of looking right at Yuri. Straight faced stares in anticipation for the final snip.

Yuri's sits on one of his folded legs and relishes the tickle of his hair barely ghosting over his collar bones until he tilts his head down. The ends feel crisp and smooth.

A fresh haircut looks good on Otabek too. Otabek whips out his credit card like it's nothing at all when they're ready. 

"Where can I take you now?" Otabek asks, managing not to pull off until he's inquired about that at least. 

"Home's good." Yuri says, settling the helmet and brushing his finger over his bare neck. "Unless you have more frivolous things to do."

The helmet doesn't feel strange to wear so much anymore. He slides over the bike and into place much more confidently, despite, again, dipping in enough for too close a contact and having to adjust himself. Yuri hands tie at Otabek's front and in the wind this time he smells the coconut scent of shampoo blended with the citrus of his soap.

"Just tell me where."

The engine turns over, rumbling under them. Yuri leads the way.

"Thanks, I guess." In the silence, tied around Otabek's body, Yuri shares his appreciation for Otabek covering the bill with a civilized and warm tone. "You could've just asked if you wanted a date," Yuri jokes.

He feels stupid after saying it. It's hard to say how much of a joke Otabek can take at this point, so it's more embarrassing than it is funny out in the open.

Otabek vibrates in Yuri's arm, Yuri can feel it as the guy snorts.He watches the road like normal, but Yuri can see the slight tilt of his head. Some of his attention is on Yuri. 

"You want this to be a date?" Otabek asks facetiously.

He's happy Otabek can't see his face. "I prefer the kidnapping idea!"

  
  
  


Summer

**What are you doing this weekend?**

He wakes when it's still dark out. 

The first thing he does is text Mila like he's been thinking of doing. Not just responding to her. He doesn't have plans, but Mila surely will give him some if he asks her to make time for him. It's about time he does.

The curtains are drawn, filling his space with blue light of the morning. The blue hours only lasts for short moments in the process of the sun and the moon making their rounds, but it's the most perfect few moments of morning. Just before dawn. The shades of orange that peak over the skyline in the distance are steady on their way. All because his room turns a color so nice Yuri's not upset that he's about to combust. 

On his back, hot and covered in a moist sheen, Yuri can feel his shirt sticking to him. Potya on his pillow, right above his head. Her fur and his hair blending together to keep his pillow undesirably warm. He can't even flip it over because she's so comfortable knocked the fuck out like she is, so the sweet, cool release on the other side would have to wait.

His phone buzzes.

**Not dancing unfortunately 🤔** She send.

**That fucking sucks 😠** He can really share the sentiment. 

**how about a lunch date with my favorite blond?** She responds immediately.

**I guess so 😼**

He showered last night, but feels obligated to wash away the slick moisture on his skin again, so he plugs his phone up to charge and goes to shower again.

The day is supposed to be hot, but humid and the chance of rain is high, so he wears another thin t-shirt. A graphic one, with line work of a cat coming out of the pocket on his chest and a frayed hem on the collar and sleeves. Jeans...socks…shoves an umbrella in his bag. His shoes are a bright white that contrasts greatly with the red of his shoestrings.

Potya migrates to the foot of the bed, on her belly, one paw tucked in, the other hung out over the edge to swat at him when he walks by. On his way to make breakfast, because he knows Yakov is still locked away in his room, Yuri high fives her paw and comes away with a scratch. " _ Damm, Potya, I take good care of you, princess- _ " rings in the hall. 

He doesn't have to close the door anymore to her, so she follows along, at his feet the entire way. Yakov doesn't bitch about it.

It's 6 am. The analog clock on top of the fridge of is staring him down through the dark. Flipping the lights on with a flick of his hand, Yuri drops his arm and reaches over the counter for the coffee mug all in one motion. 

Sets it in the sink to wash away the dust that may have collected since yesterday morning. Reaching up to grab a pan from the hook above and lighting one of the burners with one hand and the other. Phone chiming in the middle of it. 

Otabek Altin DMs him. Yuri stares down at the notification for a second and blinks. This isn't right. He shouldn't get giddy at things like that, but in the pause he takes he's reminded every second by the way his fingers tremble that he needs to look.

Yuri has his message settings to private and has to open it to know what he's said.

He grins. It's against his will and purely a subconscious reflex, but Yuri runs with it and presses on the note while he digs for things out of the fridge. If he makes himself busy at the same time, he can divert some of that energy from the threat of smiling stupidly.

**Jean says you're coming to the show** Is what Yuri opens the thread to.

**We'll go together?** Comes in real time, accompanied by the sound of a  _ swoosh _ .

Right...it is Wednesday. Otabek is a blessing because now he's reminded Yuri to message JJ or at least remember to say something to him later. And JJ better not expect a gift because Yuri's not a gift shopping person, so JJ better enjoy his presence, damn it. 

**Don't be fucking late** Yuri sends back.

He contemplates just putting his number, telling Otabek to text that instead, but would that be weird? Stupid. Since when was he so eager to give out his fucking number. It dawns on him at the thought that he never even gave JJ his number, that fucker just...had it.

He shoves his phone aside and starts cooking instead of obsessing. Turning off his mind is an impossible task though, so he obsesses and cracks eggs all at once. Eyes darting to the screen and back to the pan, back and forth. Forth and staying as another message comes in, but it's not Otabek and... that's just mildly disappointing. 

Yakov complains about the eggs being over cooked and Yuri has no excuse -yeah they fucking are- but Yakov would complains about it either way so maybe he can just chalk it up to preference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, this isn't one of my favorite chapters and I don't know why... BUT you know how it is..when you're the writer...and you aren't satisfied with something... but you know you're being overly judgemental and extra
> 
> yup! I hope you guys are enjoying Quarantine 2020 and staying safe in the meantime~


	8. Kick

Summer

Victor appears out of the air, dressed to dance. This isn't just a visit, he'll be teaching today.

"Hello, Yura."

Yuri promptly ignores him. Not because he's trying to, he just genuinely gazes out at the principal at center, dancing through Sanguine with a few of the soloist, Yuuri included, and gets mesmerized. This isn't the final cast, no, that'll be determined next week, but for the time being Yuri's here trying to learn the choreography as best he can. Just in case Anna, or Max or Alexei, or any other Master decides to give him the slightest chance when he gets in front of them and bares a little more of his soul than he's used to.

There also the fact that he's going to see JJ's show with Otabek and that's making him agitated more than giddy right now. Which makes no sense at all because he's spent time with Otabek before, granted 3 out of the 4 times were accidents. But the 4th? What could he call that outside of an impromptu date?

He doesn't need Victor to ruffle his feathers anymore than life just does to him on its own today. He can't just have fun without accomplishing something. Fucking anything. So he can go, unhinged.

"You're quite attentive today." Victor leans over to whisper in his ear, but Yuri's not for it. He's over blushing at the bastard. Though, that doesn't exactly stop him from blushing at the bastard. "And your hair looks it best again, that's nice too."

"I need to fucking dance," Yuri smacks Victor in the stomach with the back of his hand, at which Victor audible gasps, dramatically. Yuri proceeds to take two steps in the opposite direction. "No time for your crap today, Vitya."

"Oh, my. Yuri, you're a baby, give it some time."

Victor finds his way to Yuri's side again. Hands clasped together and rest against his ass, chest out and tall. Yuri keeps wondering why he's here and immediately remembering that he's got an easy pass of a name to be in any studio he wants, purpose or no purpose. 

"I'm here all the time like the rest of them, in this stupid fucking belt, why can't I fucking do this?"

And Yuuri's here too. Of course Victor would never be too far. Yuri's not fond of it, but no point in protesting. He's gotten better at that. For it, he and Victor have some kind of relationship. There's no title fit to give at the moment. 

"And, if one more of you dancing motherfuckers calls me a baby-"

"There's a hierarchy. The fact that there are dozens of dancers here with more experience, more discipline will leave you with the short end of the stick sometimes. Don't take it personally, you'll have your chance."

"That's not enough." 

"You have no choice." Victor reasons. "Just focus on getting better. For when you do have the chance."

Yuri looks at him, staring head on at Yuuri Katsuki. He takes a step back, until he can lean back, over the barre and flex his shoulder blades to the mirror, just for the odd feeling of them swiping across the cool surface. It helps him ignore the fluttering in his gut. His neck is cold against it, reminding him of having had it cut. It comes up to him often, like it's an important fact to keep in mind. He thinks of Otabek when anything makes the hair stand on his neck. 

Victor's right, of course, Yuri knows that much. He may not get all the best roles right away, and that's okay. He's just not okay with it.

"I wonders whose chances you took, Vitya."

Victor turns. He smiles and then looks forward again. Before long he's taking the few steps back until he's against the mirror too. Hips out over the barre, like Yuri beside him, but relaxed in a way Yuri is not.

"Don't tell me to wait, that's too fucking passive and you'd never stand for it either."

"What are you impatient for?"

Yuri can't say. Victor keeps his gaze forward, but Yuri keeps his head tilted rightly for his eyes to drift from Victor to the dancers. A mistake of posture because he doesn't drift back to the dancers. Victor's still under his gaze, Yuri's sure he's aware.

"I don't know."

"It's okay. I think that it's good to be ever eager, but don't forget your discipline. Lilia taught you that, right?" Victor pets his arm softly with the back of his hand. "You don't seem so forlorn lately. That's nice."

"Forlorn?!" Yuri exclaims, glaring at the attention his voice attracts over the sounds of Paul Hindemith's music. "That's fucking pathetic-"

"I know, you were like a kicked puppy a few months ago," Victor sighs, but the amusement is clear in his voice. In the upturn of his mouth. "Like Makka, when I had to get her spayed after that incident with that mongrel at Summer Garden. She just wasn't herself for a little while."

"What does that even mean?" Yuri scoffs, instead of hitting him like he wants to do. "And I wasn't fucking agreeing, you bitch-don't let compare to your dog!"

"Oh, it was horrible, Yurio. We all had to wait there until that wild dog finished to even leave or we'd have hurt Makka."

"Finished?" Yuri grimaces.

Victor looks at him, head rolling against the mirror. The disgust written over his sad, droopy look is practically tangible. "Finished." He emphasizes, teeth coming together as he snarls out the word.

"That's fucking disgusting."

"I know." Victor sighs. "Nonetheless, your resolve is admirable, but you should allow yourself to have more fun."

"Oh, really, like your reckless phase?"

"I didn't say it wasn't fun to be reckless." Victor drops his head to nudge the crown of Yuri's, moving over until they're touching. Their arms brush, nearly shoulder to shoulder but Victor is still centimeters taller. His hair blends with Yuri's own, tickling Yuri's ears and shocking the tiny hairs all over him to a stand.

Yuri tenses, but Victor's so sure and comfortable that Yuri can't move away. "You're fucking horrible," Yuri mutters. Victor hums his response. 

He pinches Yuri's side, in the slight bit of soft tissue just beneath his ribs. "Also, none of that was meant to discourage. Maybe you can impress Alexei like I did." Victor saunters off just as the song ends. 

Yuri can't stand the vulgar imagery that comes to mind.

Victor's doing choreography. The same choreo that he had been teaching Yuuri that night is what the last group of dancers finish up with.

Summer

"Hey "

The plus side of having a bike and not a car is that Otabek can stop in any small piece of space and call it a parking spot. The sliver of curb between the tree outside Yakov's house and another car parked is where Otabek places himself for when Yuri emerges from the front door and hops down the several stairs to the pavement 

JJ gave no other information besides his thing being on Wednesday, and his birthday, so Yuri has to throw shit on and hope for the best. Not that he asked many questions. With some common sense he figures they're probably going to a bar and Yuri's still never been to a bar. Legally or otherwise. 

There are large, tattered tears in his jeans and his boots have leopard shoestrings, but his shirt is a ashy black, blotched over like faded gray, and so he's not worried really because who gives that much of a fuck.

Right out of the door he sees that Otabek is not in black, ironically. Still, he's casual.

"Hey."

Yuri's happy to not have his backpack for once when he gets onto the bike. The weightless feeling, and the solid metal and leather between his legs is exciting. 

"I bought extra glasses today." Otabek says, pulling the black shades out of his inner pocket and holding them out to the curb. The look of him in his helmet and those glasses is a whole new world compared to him at a piano or an orchestra meeting.

Yuri straps on the second helmet and takes them. If Yuri had remembered he could have grabbed his own, could have went back into the house to grab a pair even, but he doesn't and it turns out better than otherwise. He takes Otabek's offering and wears them willingly.

"Thanks."

"Hop on."

Yuri hastily throws a leg up and over the bike. It gets better each time he gets on the damn thing, not that the thrill keeps his heart from knocking at his ribs extra hard, it's an exhilarating experience each time Otabek turns his key. Yuri wraps his arms around him with much more certainty than before, a jumpy sort of eagerness that makes him shuffle around as he settles. Primed and comfortable.

He's been dancing all morning and afternoon, so a break is very much needed and appreciated.

"Where are we going?"

"A bar in the Tsentralny District."

"Don't be too annoyed with the amount of...hipsters we find there." Otabek adds, with a slight glance back.

"Don't worry, you haven't annoyed me yet."

Yuri can feel him quiver, his laugh muffled to erratic puffs of breath.

"I'll try not to be hurt over that."

The clouds that roll in don't make the ride as aesthetically pleasing as a clear sky and a sunset would. Still, the twilight hour makes the sky blue and tints the clouds. On the street it's bright still, but dim like a dark, sheer fabric has been placed over the world and what they see is through a film 

It's idyllic really. Yuri holds on tighter. Maybe more pleasant than the sun lighting their path.

"Do you ever get scared on this damn thing?"

"I used to, but it was for more impersonal reasons. I still enjoyed riding."

"Impersonal?"

"External?" Otabek says then.

Like speeding cars?" Yuri asks.

Otabek makes a strange noise, an airy snort or something that makes Yuri attempt to lean over and see his face. "And my mother's imagination."

"And JJ's afraid for me to put my feet on his dashboard."

"It's out of consideration, I'm sure."

"Of his reckless driving."

"He does get distracted sometimes."

The bar has a bright store front, lit from fixtures hung under the awning. Otabek leads the way. 

They leave the bike in a parking lot about a block away, near a street light and a payphone station that's missing the phone and the cord it would be attached to, and use their legs the rest of the journey. Yuri following along unaware entirely of where exactly he should have been looking for, but he and Otabek are nearly shoulder to shoulder. Yuri's a couple centimeters taller.

The large crowd out front, smoking and making more noise than ideal outside a store front city block, doesn't look at all cohesive. As if they were all going some place else, but it's just as likely they were all simply coming from different places. Yuri snorts at the thought that he'd stand out. That he ever reconsidered wearing anything he picked out of his closet. 

Otabek holds open the door with his back and Yuri steps through, acutely aware of the pressure that graces his back, safely above his waist.

Yuri turns to him. 

"Do you drink?" Otabek asks. 

"I guess, I'm never actually looking to drink though."

Otabek nods to a pair of stools at the end of the bar and Yuri turns to claim them quickly.

"Do you drink?" He asks back.

"I didn't, not before I came here," Otabek admits.

"From Almaty?" Yuri turns in his stool, just slightly. Left then right. Otabek looks at him and Yuri explains himself. "It was tagged as your location on Instagram," he adds.

"My parents are Muslim, so were most of my friends."

"So you come to Russia and now you drink?" Yuri snorts. Otabek nods at his blatant amusement in the coincidence.

"Only occasionally. Mostly wine I guess."

"I don't have a preference, I guess whatever the fuck gets me drunk?" Yuri shrugs. In Moscow, Grandpa would drink scotch for the taste sometimes. He swished it around in his mouth and even compliments it when he's with his buddies from the soviet era. Vodka was a given.

"That's a dangerous mentality." Otabek shakes his head. He snatches up a table tent from an arms length down and reads over it.

"Screw it!" Yuri exclaims.

Yuri orders a beer. Otabek gets wine, like he said he probably would.

Yuri half expects this to feel more adult than it does, yet he feels anything but. 

Worst of all, he keeps wanting to spin around in his fucking seat, and eventually he just gives in and fucking does it. Halfway through the revolution he finds JJ. He hasn't said happy birthday yet, opting not to text it because he'd have just seen him now anyway.

"Have you seen him play live before?" He asks, leaning in possibly too close to Otabek, but he doesn't pay it much mind, in fact Otabek looks over his shoulder and just about touches their cheeks together. Tickling brushed of Otabek slight peach fuzz like static on his skin.

"Multiple times." Otabek says, close enough to his ear for Yuri to feel his breath gust over his neck. "I think he should do more original songs." 

Otabek spins around to look head on, his bomber opening up and dragging along Yuri thigh before falling to his side again. Yuri traces his eyes over the clean lines of his hair against olive skin, glowing under the jar light overhead. Yuri blinks at the realization that he's wearing fucking eyeliner too.

"He looks real fucking happy." Yuri comments. He takes his eyes off Otabek just in time to avoid eye contact.

It's Otabek's turn to stop and admire Yuri's profile. What he looks at, Yuri doesn't give it much thought, but he feels it. He sees JJ, though he's not actually watching.

His “baby" is strapped to his front. The strap is lined with red damn maple leaves against the black cabling. Yuri can see from across the room that JJ's smile is pearly white and straight as money under the spotlight.

Otabek's solo wine tasting keeps him straight faced, until he sucks his teeth and flares his nostrils. The places gets dim and he looks at Yuri, who stares back. A moment that makes Yuri scowl at him for even daring to make him reddish in the face.

Yuri looks back at JJ and there he is looking at him too. JJ winks. He spins his guitar to his back and climbs off the stage and Yuri just knows he's on his way over. Hidden in the crowd, stalking him like a cat in the weeds.

"Jeez, Beka, just swallow it." He breaths, the short hair on his neck going straight and his muscles rigid as he waits.

Otabek sets his glass down and smiles. Not so wide, but it does make his cheek bones bulb. He lowers his head to hide, then leans on his elbow and watches Yuri out of the palm of his hand. It's a more endearing moment than Yuri can appreciate, but he takes it in silence.

"Oh, fuck," Yuri says, the beer burns in his stomach.

"Oh fuck!" He groans again, harsher on his throat, when JJ's hands grip at his shoulders and shake him forward. What he's been waiting for. Otabek looks on between them.

"I gotta tell you something, kitten."

"Okay, what the fuck is it?" Yuri squirms, shaking off JJ's hand that find their way to his sides instead."A-and don't call me kitten, what the fuck!"

“I wasn't gonna say a thing, but” Jean says, drumming his hands against Yuri's thighs. Some song plays in the background that he mimics the bass of, none of them are really listening to it, but Yuri notices when JJ drums at him. 

"I could make you fall for me, Yuri Plisetsky. "

"How about don't," Yuri lashes, with a quick turn of his head. "Happy fucking Birthday."

JJ pauses between them, aiming that stupid grin at Yuri for muich too long. So obviously a bit hyped up on something. "Thanks, kitten. I'm officially twenty years old today." 

Otabek's modestly upturned lips are accompanied by flush on his skin. 

"Don't kill Otabek, okay." JJ waves a hand over his face. 

Otabek picks his head up and shakes it. Calmly grasping JJ's hand and lowering it to his side, their fingers intertwined for a little while. Long enough for JJ to stare in his damn eyes, unblinking and soft. Otabek just blinks, slow, like Potya does while she watches Yuri get dressed in the morning.

"He won't turn a drink down if you offer it to him. He's just that nice."

Yuri feels like an asshole, but also naked under Otabek's gaze. He's warm all over, and twitchy. 

"Shots?" JJ asks. "I've had a few already."

"Maybe?" Yuri shrugs.

"Later." Otabek nods.

The bar is moderately large, still and sweet, but people are packing n. The chatter and clinking of glasses upturn every corner. Nothing too big, mostly wooden all over, complete with a stage opposite the entrance. Some asshole behind him is close enough that Yuri can feel his mass brush by now and again. 

JJ half jogs back, guitar swaying over his back. He climbs up and the lights that brighten the stage dim around the edges, seeming to also darken everything outside of them. Otabek leans on his elbow, chin low and gaze reserved only for JJ.

JJ adjusts the mic stand again, his every other finger on both hands littered with silver bands. He takes a deep breath before leaning into the mike and introducing himself and the song, in Russian- his accent as good as any foreign attempts to sound competent. It's almost intimate. Do any of these assholes know that he's a dancer at a world renowned company? That underneath his button up and his stupid color block jeans that he's toned to every end, like Yuri does.

Summer

“Hey, asshole,” mouth agape, and eyes wide with some overwhelming excitement, JJ picks his chin up off his arms folded over the back of a chair. Turns over his shoulder and looks from the hand on his bicep to Yuri’s face.

“Let me have your keys, we’re getting in your car.” Yuri smacks him there once. Then again and harder. His guitar is still strung over his back and Yuri has the urge to pluck a string or two, but he's afraid of what it might do. JJ's so good with it and loving to the damn thing, Yuri doesn't feel fit to be involved.

“Sure thing,” JJ takes his time. “Kitten,” he says slow. The tranquility is etched into his face, the aftermath of a job well done. He looks pleased.

His friends, his bandmates eye Yuri. Yuri stares back less than nicely. He wonders, even if just for a second, how JJ manages to make a life like this a world away from home. The night's gone on enough that he doesn't have the energy to engage in a petty back and forth. Neither does JJ apparently. Yuri's still putting himself back into place after JJ manages to rock his stooll a little too much. 

After JJ makes his skin tingle, every cell coming apart at the seams. 

JJ stands out of his seat, backwards in a chair, and digs into the front pocket of his jeans and hands the ring of metal and a tiny fucking anime plushy to him.

“Don't drink and drive,” JJ winks. 

"Shut up," Yuri says back 

“I'll be there in a minute.” He adds quickly, aware that Yuri's narrow gaze and painful expressions aren't pleas for him to continue.

He rolls his eyes at JJ's stupid circle. JJ watches him a while before he sits, Yuri looks back to see it. His stupid huge mouth and all the teeth in it, his back straight, joggers fitted well around his thighs where the fabric hasn't fallen and settled yet. Yuri nearly wipes out right over a chair in the middle of it too. Like a jackass.

"Jesus fuck-" He hisses, pausing to realign the chair before stumbling back to the bar, where Otabek holds the back of his hand over his mouth. Still rested against the bar on a single elbow. His eyes are low on Yuri, his eyelashes fluttering over short and thick. That third glass of wine was obviously the straw to break his fucking back.

"Stop grinning, you fucker."

"Oh, I'd hate to fall from your graces, Yura." 

The familiar variation of his name definitely doesn't get lost on Yuri.

"Don't give me a reason, then."

Yuri's already blushing at being the idiot he is, so there's nothing more to hide when he finds that Otabek's really good at saying his name just the way Yuri doesn't need him to. This outing is what it takes to dissolve the distance between them. Otabek can have his colorful terms of endearment and otherwise.

"Ready?" Otabek asks. 

Yuri jingles the keys in Otabek's sights between them. He drapes an arm over Otabek's shoulders and coaxes him out of his seat with some faint tugging. They can finally get the hell out, even if it's just to sit in JJ's car and wait for him.

The whole arm over the shoulder thing is a gesture he doesn't mean to do, one that he would regret if Otabek didn't fit so well or hook an arms around Yuri too. At the very least, he doesn't tense up and shrink away, but Yuri gets more than that.

Yuri knows that his own courage is mostly due to the mild intoxication. He must have the tolerance of a snail, Yuri figures, if he can act so impulsively and give it little to no thought as he does it. But it's encouraging to know Otabek responds nicely either way.

With his free hand, Yuri pulls his phone out of his back pocket and opens the camera the minute the door hinges squeak behind them. He wants to document the way Otabek walks all slow and slouched, under Yuri's arms, like this journey will lead them straight to his bed.

They linger out of the bar pressed at their sides, leaving behind the likes of random ass people who had conversations over them at their stools, bump them carelessly in their effort to move. The throngs of hipsters Otabek warned him about out front. Who blow smoke into the air that inevitably filter right up into Yuri's nose. Someone who leaves firm pats on Otabek's shoulders and tells him to take it easy, recognizing him. 

Who size up Yuri and keep straight, questioning faces as they do.

But Yuri's used to being looked at, and you could even say he liked it.

Yuri positions his phone in the air on an angle, camera view bouncing and going out of focus as they walk. Slow and steady because Otabek is his taking his sweet ass time and Yuri slows to match his pace. 

They're still hooked together.

"Do something cool." Yuri suggests. 

"Like what?" Otabek asks, craning his head to adjust the angle. Yuri tilts the phone more.

Snapping a photo just as Otabek's eyes turn on him and he's focused in on the lense. "Nevermind…" Yuri says slow. 

He likes that one for the way Otabek's head is tilted, but his gaze is on Yuri, aligned just right with Yuri's own eyes. Loose strands of Yuri's hair are stuck in the upturned ends of Otabek's crown, the thick mess of black hair is out of place. Usually he's got it slicked back, but he doesn't do anything to flatten the natural wave of it tonight.

Yuri inspects the picture some more. The manufactured look of faded denim looks nice on Otabek. Over a mauve colored fucking tank top that stops and curls at his hips, just above his jeans. Otabek is one of those people who makes things look like everyone should own them only to be disappointed when it just turns out to look really awesome on him.

“I can post this?” 

He shoves the phone up a bit, hovering in front of Otabek's face, and waits for him to blink a few times and steady his sight over the glow.

“Sure.”

His features are dark enough that black eyeliner is just enough to complete his committed look of something between angst and aesthetic fashion. Yuri refuses to believe he doesn't try as he redirects his attention back to the phone. 

He adds a subtle filter. The shot came out nice, though kind of blurry, but for midnight, post bar concert, it's the kind of thing Yuri likes. Otabek looks real nice with his head tilted down, hard eyes all smoldering completely unintentionally, and Yuri just happens to catch it.

"Caption?" Yuri says, tagging the street, the bar, @-ing JJ and Otabek, with his one available hand, all in that order before returning to the photo.

“I'm not great at captions,” he admits after some thought, Yuri's anticipation dying after he waits for something he thought would be good. “One shot.”

“There's a science to this, Otabek"

"I'm not a scientist." Otabek shrugs. His fingers press into Yuri's ribs a little. Accidentally, Yuri figures when they settle almost immediately. He can't let go yet. Yuri locks his phone and decides he can post a picture later. That the permission to do so will have to extend to the morning after.

Otabek is still looking at him as if he's offended by the assumption. Leaned over and squinting to read the Cyrillic Yuri has started.

The lot is still empty when they arrive. They part from their shoulder, Otabek heading straight for his bike, as if he's forgotten that Yuri's not getting on that thing while Otabek looks wasted.

Otabek huffs and drops himself over his bike, content until he looks up and Yuri staring at him from the pavement.

"I'm not dying tonight!" Yuri dangles JJ's keys at him. Part of him also wants to get into JJ's car, post performance.

"You want me to leave her here?"

"It'll be fine. Even better without us now!"

He then gestures out a hand for Otabek to come and, after a minute, Otabek does. Head hung low, sighing loud enough that Yuri can hear it from three spots away. His mouth thins and Otabek pleads with him a look of defeat. Yuri's not gonna budge though.

JJ's car is parked a quiet alley street behind the row. Where weeds grow out of cracks in the ground and there are loading docks along the opposite side of the bar. Otabek knows exactly where to look for it.

Yuri's pulls the door open excessively hard when they find it, and crawls in head first, on his hands and knees into the passenger seat. And flops down close to the radio. He forgets that Otabek probably sits shotgun when he isn't there and throws out a hand to tug him back by his sleeve. Otabek pauses at the motioning for him to climb in.

"It's one seat."

"You'll fit, so come on."

They huddle in the seat like it's fit for two. Yuri doesn't need to think about how close. Otabek stupidly goes along with it too, thankfully. Yuri doesn't have to look like a fool. The best thing about it, besides the warmth that spreads from his middle to the tips of his fingers and toes, is that Otabek's relaxed and still. 

He doesn't make to keep from molding into Yuri's side. Not like at the bar, or walking like they had, but really pressed together. Otabek is not a dancer, but he's made of hard lines and sturdy limbs that Yuri can feel each time they come in contact. On the bike and especially now.

The tradeoff for both of them is the leg space, but naturally Yuri lifts one of his own a little, to sit up, just a bit on Otabek's thigh, mostly balanced on his other leg.

Yuri busies himself by being nosy, while Otabek delicately twirls the loose, fray strands falling off the holes on his jeans between his fingers. They are practically in his lap too.

There's nothing fun in JJ's car, Yuri's already aware. He keeps it too clean for that. He's been in it numerous times, but enough of anything would serve to keep his attention off being too weird for comfort.

JJ has an old case of CDs in his glove compartment, which is funny considering he only ever uses bluetooth. Yuri plucks through them.

After he's observed one, Otabek takes it from him, thumb in the center hole and index on the outer edge, admiring them all the same. He's still quiet, like he's still recovering. He puts them in the back in the plastic pouches with the leather case after he's done.

"I know people still just, like, have them, but when was the last time anyone's played a fucking CD?" Yuri says, it's not really a question, but-

Otabek responds anyway. "He keeps them because his father would play them in their car when he little."

“He really got a soft side, huh." Yuri teases more than he speculates.

"Yeah, he does."

Beneath the CDs there are envelopes and those little tiny scripture books that he gets from the religious people that stop him on street corners to talk about forgiveness and repentance. 

“Think you'll find something you like?” Otabek asks. Yuri can feel him shift, allowing Yuri to fall into the seat more, lodged between the stick and Otabek's thighs. He tilted against the door, but not complaining and neither is Yuri.

“It's not going well so far.” Yuri says back.

“There's some gum and a switch blade between the seats if you can do something with that.” Otabek obviously thinks he's funny, but he's not, Yuri snorts anyway. Then turns to him and sneers.

“Ha ha." He wonders if it's for real. "Don't tempt me."

“Otabek,” he says, when the air is silent of a reply, slamming the compartment closed and deciding to go still and not root around for shit. To not root around anymore. He doesn't need the security of it right now. 

"Did you enjoy it?" He finally speaks, the fabric stretches over his elbow, rubbing smudges into the window as Otabek fucks around in his hair. "The show, I mean."

Yuri lies back against his third of the backrest and tosses a glance to the side to find Otabek's eyes focused in on him and his head tilted on the headrest in Yuri's direction. That same strange and pointed look from the selfie Yuri took.

Yuri folds a leg over Otabek's lap to keep it from falling asleep between them, the okay is present in Otabek's unbothered demeanor. Yuri's bare knee entirely exposed in the boy's lap through the large frayed tear in his jeans.

He doesn't say anything, so Yuri persists, stretching his knee and dropping his foot over the side, between Otabek and the door.

"JJ's got too many fucking layers," He says quietly, face to face. Otabek can surely smell the beer on his breath.

"Everyone has layers." 

From his lips, Yuri can smell the wine too.

"You're too perfect" is something he'd never fucking say out loud, but god is he stupid. Yuri whips his head forward and squeezes his eyes closed until Otabek stops quivering, holding that stifled laugh. 

"Fuck."

Otabek lets out an airy chuckle that breezes into the collar of Yuri's shirt. "Am I?"

Yuri bats his eyelids at him. He punches Otabek's bicep as a much too delayed reaction.

JJ can really get under his skin, but Yuri's thankful that the driver door bangs open with Jean leaned over and shoving into the car head first. 

He looks confused at first, jumping back when Yuri and Otabek hop to attention and stare at him with tired, shaky stares.

"Don't you two look awfully cuddly." JJ teases. He's not smiley and loud, but he throws narrow eyed, gleaming looks at them as he moves about. He presses a button and Yuri can feel the breeze from behind, on his neck. 

JJ wiggles his brows. He tosses his phone into the seat disappears to the back with his guitar, there's a silent pause. In which Otabek clears his throat and hums gutturally. He settles back against the door mostly, half on the backrest, half off. 

He wonders if Otabek means to be so...attractive. Literally. His face is nice, but he makes Yuri want to make him speak. Shove a leg over his lap and leave it there just to see if he can.

There's a slam, followed by a breeze on his neck and JJ's feet crushing over pebbles and coming back to his seat. Yuri sucks his lip between his teeth and stares JJ down until he finally looks back. He been so well conditioned he almost fucking wants JJ to call him princess, or baby, or kitten. Anything.

The enveloping feeling of doing something he shouldn't has him crushed between the two of them. 

JJ feels himself up in search of his key, Yuri realizes and heedfully hangs them in JJ's view. He's incapable of just taking them, it has to be a provoking gesture. Where he cloaks his hand around Yuri's wrist, gliding over every digit before just taking the fucking keys.

JJ slumps against his seat as he starts the car, he doesn't turn away from Yuri to do any of it, taunting Yuri the entire time with the subtle terror in those twilight blue eyes. 

"J'ai un kick sur toi." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone translated that last part for me, so know that I don't speak French, from France or Canada. 
> 
> ugh editing-


	9. Fuzzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fuzzy pressure that wells up in his core is the tipping point.

Summer

On their stupidly wide, L shaped tweed couch. Yuri lies in the heel of the boot, his head at the junction where either side meets. There's comforter wrapped around him, under his arms and tucked around his feet like he was tucked in. He can't remember acquiring it himself, so it must have been one of them. He's thankful still, because the place is cool, even when he tucks himself farther into the throw pillows and the arm of the chair and pulls his arms underneath the blanket to curl up. For a long while, he doesn't move. 

JJ is one of those people who loves their friends hard. Who regard them with the same care and attention that they would a significant other. Connection to him is just so important. And his feelings are the same. He feels them hard. Yuri can tell. He's unapologetically excited about what excites him, despite any judgement and Yuri hates it. 

He admires it too. 

But JJ's not allowed to love Yuri like that. He absolutely cannot. Yuri can't take that.

It's quiet, not dead silent, but white noise is all there is. The ventilation system just works in the background of his attention. 

And the room's dim, accented by the light over the stove. What with the floor plan being open, any source of light spreads out and shares a bit of itself with every corner it can reach. 

Of course the peace he should feel is marred by his thoughts. He's completely fucking fine, physically. Within his gut though, he can still feel the warmth of whatever JJ says to him. And how Otabek says he doesn't speak French, but that's not an admission to not knowing what the fuck JJ says. Otabek doesn't do anything, but Yuri's got the distinct feeling that he's no choir boy. 

They know each other better than he knows them.

But then JJ says it's a secret.  _ Don't worry, Yuri, really _ . Yuri secretly fucking thinks that they're hiding several vices that they mean to reveal to him in the ways they look at each other and him between them.

Strange, but real. He can feel it. Whatever that was. Yuri's never been kissed, but it's the kind of thing he would imagine happens in moments like that. 

He still has on the ashy black t-shirt and it's wrinkled and creased from how he lies. And it's thin enough that he's cold when he shoots up and sits cross leg on his ass.

His drapes the blanket over his shoulders and hugs the fluff close.

And, yeah, he's curious, but he's equally pissed. Maybe just slightly lust ridden in the middle of the two.

"Morning, Yuri." 

Yuri throws his head back, hair flailing against the cushions to look. Otabek posts up in the archway. He stands there, hands in the pockets of his sweats, rocking on his heels. His shirt's thin enough that Yuri can make out the shape and pull of his muscles underneath with his movements, as subtle as they may be. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Alive," he says, and sits up straight again just to sink down into the couch and pulls his knees to his chest. Making a joke out of that question is the best way to avoid actually answering it. 

"I'd hardly call it morning. Should I feel any specific way?" He doesn't know what time it is, but the curtains are drawn open and the sky is still dark. The moon must be on the other side of the sky. No blue hint of twilight. Barely any stars. He's been asleep for a while though, albeit a short one obvious.

Otabek has on glasses, and like any cliche, his hair is out of place and raked through. But Yuri has no right to feel any way about it because this isn't even his house.

No, he can't deny that Otabek is pretty attractive, still doesn't mean he has to acknowledge it.

"Then why  _ are _ you awake so early?" Otabek asks, but he's not going to the kitchen, so he must be here for Yuri. He glides around the long way, passing behind Yuri, to the top of the boot and falls into the couch with a sigh.

"I don't know, my eyes just opened." 

Yuri attempts to toss his hair out of his face, forgetting that it doesn't have the leverage to hang onto anything. "Why are you? You a morning person?"

"Nope. Don't have the discipline."

His phone is in the coffer table, face down, but Yuri can see the screen light up in the glass around its boarders. He wants to grab it, but he doesn't want to move. 

"It's overrated." He shrugs because it is, but whether he enjoys it or not isn't the question. He has the discipline because he needed it. Has had it for years. 

Discipline is hardly the reason he's awake right now. This is just fucking nerves or something more terrifying.

"It's nice though," Otabek says, in an agreeable pitch."To see the sun come up." 

"Don't you have any obligations in the morn- next few hours?" It's really a way of asking why Otabek is here  _ now _ , because Yuri's curious and he could end up projecting if he doesn't get any clarification on things soon. 

"A set up rehearsal this afternoon, but maybe some studying after that."

He drops his head against couch. "I have to get my bike, too."

"I guess  _ she _ is pretty important." 

And Because Yuri's never actually seen him in it. "Do you actually play in the orchestra?"

"No. I'm more like an all purpose intern to the theater, but I don't mean there." Otabek sinks some more and folds the balls of his feet on the edge of the coffee table. He wiggles his toes. "I DJ sometimes."

His sleeve rides up just enough that Yuri can see the solid black, thin lines of his tattoo. Two drawn on bands around his arms, each band no more than to fingers thick and about a centimeter between them. 

He scoffs, laughs and frowns, each working over his face in waves that Otabek could, if he tried hard enough, see the beginning and endings of. Yuris's brows tugged to the bridge of his nose, making noticeable creases in his forehead. "So, that instra post was for fucking real?" 

Yuri sits up quick and gravity takes control of the blanket. Half off it slips away to the floor. "Are you gonna tell me you're a prince next?" Yuri mocks.

Otabek just gawks at him. Yuri can see him, even if there is a dark veil over then both.

"Are you any good?" He asks, accidentally because that's actually dumb and he personally hates it when people ask him if he's any good in ballet. "Wait, nevermind. Don't answer that, it's stupid."

Shoving his hair behind his ears, Yuri gawks back. "I wanna see you do it." He eyes Otabek's tattoo again, then his face.

Otabek scratches his head with the other arm and Yuri can see that that one is bare. 

"I have a thing this weekend."

"Too bad I have a thing this weekend too." He doesn't really, but now's too soon. Yuri scoots closer. "Gimme your phone?"

Otabek pulls it out of his sweats promptly, the fabric bunching up awkwardly on his thigh, and holds it out like a gift. No case, no anything. Bare glass and metal in his palm. "I'll let you know then."

"Thanks." Then Yuri finds his contacts and  _ adds new.  _ He puts a cat emoji where his name should be and keys in his number. It's a lot easier and less nerve wracking than DMing him for it. He sends himself a text of the waving hand emoji.

"You'd fucking better." 

Yuri slaps Otabek's phone back into his hand, limp on the couch between them, and purposely takes the time to notice how warm his skin is in the sliver of time he gives himself to brush against it.

"You have to let me see you dance then."

"Like you didn't get a private show or anything." Yuri references the day Otabek attempted to scare him to death by way of surprise piano chord. It's almost like that perfect response for silencing a person already on the edge.

Otabek's eyes are dark, low with what is obviously a need for sleep, and Yuri's are red in the whites and pallid around the skin. So there's a pretty even match between the dull covet stares between them. The difference is, Yuri can't keep the rest of his face from gilding over that same, pinkish shade. He rubs his eyes to hide in the naturality of the act.

"You want coffee?" Otabek asks, making his own escape to the kitchen, also accurately described as just behind Yuri and to the left.

Yuri sinks down low within the cushions, flat against the couch and turned awkwardly with his torso pulled over his thighs. Otabek can't see him, even from atop the advantage of the foundation. But Yuri, in the reflection of the flat screen just meters away, can see Otabek.

No, he doesn't want coffee. He remembers JJ telling him that Otabel drinks coffee just to crash afterward and thinks it's funny that he asked. It enough to make him just smile. Just a little.

Yuri does finally make it around to reaching for his phone and there is the time, 5 am on the dot. And several text messages from Mila and Victor, a missed call from Yakov and 163 likes on the photo he posted. But Yuri swears he hadn't posted a photo…

But, oh he did. That mess of a photo with Otabek didn't get discarded and it's Otabek's fault for jabbing Yuri in the ribs like that. Mila is surely referencing it when she sends:

**👀👀**

**don't get cut on that jaw** ****

Yuri grimaces. Victor's message isn't about Otabek or the photo at all, but something he'll definitely try not to forget to find interest in later. When his eyes aren't heavy again and Otabek stops being a source of stimulation.

**I've got good news!** Victor sends.

The caption isn't even good, just some crap he forgot to delete, but now that it's been seen and liked and well... maybe the authentic and kinda raunchy feel of it is okay. Maybe he likes it well enough. 

The screen instantly reminds him that he was enjoying the dark and the freedom from connection. He leaves it back on the table in favor of watching the flat screen reflection again.

"No thanks." He remembers to blurt out as the sound of Otabek messing around with shit echoes in the otherwise silent room. His distorted reflection appearing in and out of Yuri's sights.

Yuri could fall back asleep like this. Some light conversation seems to do fine at settling his nerves and maybe that was Otabek's purpose. He's welcome back to the couch even, if he so pleased. They could sleep together. 

Plus, their couch is just so comfortable that Yuri really just could. Especially with the sound of Otabek messing around acting as the perfect audio stimulant amongst a dim room and a sweet ass blanket. 

It wasn't a matter of will, sleep just took him.

The second time he opens his eyes to the white of the ceiling above, it's not the ceiling he sees. It's JJ, hovering over the couch side ways and wiggling his fingers to say "good morning."

Yuri jumps, though it feels more like a twitch.

"You creep."

JJ stands back up and relaxes his weight onto his arms, hands gripping the back of the couch. While Yuri rises like the dead and rubs the sleep from his eyes with the bottom of his palms.

"You want a ride home? I know you've been hell bent on the Temperaments." 

Yeah, he would very much like to make it to the thing. The thing is just more dancing, auditions and the like. And he should probably stop drooling on their couch too. Let Yakov know he's alive and such. 

Yuri turns his gaze up, it's less than angelic, rather angry and scowly. JJ speaking English to him the second he opens his eyes might as well be french and any other languages he knows. "I need to go home."

Otabek's not around, Yuri swivels his head to check. The room is finally bright with sun stretched over every accessible surface. Sunny and excessively so. It's well passed sun rise and with the curtains accordioned at the border Yuri gets a blinding glimpse of the sun.

"I figured I'd ask since I was gonna drive their anyway." Yuri squints at him, pulling an Effect and a clear bottle of dark liquid from the fridge. "Don't be cranky, I swear I'm being  _ nice." _

He's gotta get off that damn couch.

"I want coffee first."

"Sure thing! Are you hungry too?"

"Fuck no."

  
  


Summer

  
  


It's strange being in a class where Victor teaches, like officially fucking teaches. His bullshit isn't a suggestion for Yuri to either ignore or atteoutside of his presence, now he'll be literally asked and expect to doing everything Victor demands. 

And then there's the matter of his attention not being solely on Yuri. He's never had to "share" his time with him. Victor's been around to teach him plenty, but watching as two dozen people put their focus on Victor for the purpose of learning and not taking in the pieces of him he breaks up and shares, is annoying and terrifying.

Still nothing like feeling Victor wanting to be with some other Yuuri, but that's besides the point and not relevant anymore.

Victor doesn't linger on Yuri for too long, he evens out his attention and out and only lies an idle hands on Yuuri's ass for the purpose of adjusting him or setting an example.

"The Temperaments all suggest very different demeanors, but you do not need to be natural to them. You just need to be a performer." Victor courtesies deeply after he says it, leg thrown back far and gentle slowing his arms into place. He picks his head up out of his bow first, he grins at them all.

From across the room, Alexei leans lazily against the bare wall right off the door, his head tilted and eyes up forward flirtatiously. His arms are crossed, but they hang low, like he's cradling himself. He's obviously older, maybe mid 40s, because his features are lightly defined by the gentle effects of age. Charming lines at the corners of his eyes and the brackets that draw from the outsides of his nose and curve around his smile.

That whimsical asshole really drives the old motherfuckers mad. He has been for years. 

Yuri's gaze bounces between. How exactly did Victor impress Alexei?

"Manifest the Temperaments with your bodies by first understanding them from inside." Victor goes vertical again.

Yuri realizes he's been slouching when Victor pushes his chest out and stands with his feet turned out. "It'll be the subtleties that decide you fit for any role. All of you may be asked to perform the same movements and it'll be in the way you do so that you embody the fundamentals of any one Temperament."

Victor marches on quick, but gently laid feet, soundless in his prance to the center.

"Let's start with…shall we?"

"You." He throws a hand out, finger pointed for JJ

Yuri can't help but smirk. JJ takes a step forward.

"And you." This time he points to someone on the other side.

Yuri's staring right at him, like everyone else and not, all at once, so of course he sees it coming when Victor finds his reflection. Cross armed, head dropped and spewing yellow hair over his left shoulder and favoring a lean into his left side. He stands out a bit further than the line of dancers in front of him. 

Then Victor turns hastily and waves out a hand as he calls a firm, and in English, "and you."

Victor points to his left, his right and his back. "In that order."  _ Stand _ .

Yuri quickly thinks to right his face and scraps the idea just as fast. He doesn't like that he's at the back and Victor surely did it on purpose. JJ keeps jerk-ish smirk on his face, taunting him through the mirror but Yuri knows he's not even minding their positioning when he does it, so Yuri has to ignore him. Now's definitely not the time to be flustered.

He has no choice but to travel there, taking on the same stance as Victor. None of them do. But their being watched, so he does it as exaggerant as he can. Just to draw some attention, that's all. 

"Do as I do, just as I do it." Victor commands. His face is blank of even a slight smile. He stares forward.

Alexei has moved by now, standing in the spot Victor dances from.

From Yuri's understanding, Victor's interpretation of Phlegmatic translates to easy movement through predetermined steps. Step to be danced through in a very specific sequence, lacking in the way of personal style and elegance. Nothing dainty or over robust. Like a doll on a string, no movement will necessarily be fluid and flowing, they're simply too jointed-

"But each movement will make sense, even in their uniqueness."

Victor bends at the waist, head down because he doesn't need to see himself at all times to do the movements he's teaching. He bends his knees, toes out forward in either direction and waves each arm down and inward twice, never through a straight line. It's elbows and the rotator cuffs moving together. The slight roll of his shoulder blades as he unbends and straightens only slight.

Nearly every defined muscle in Victor's body flexes and from behind, Yuri can see them all. He doesn't mean to stare hard enough to see the lines of Victor's dance belt, but what can he do? It's right there in front of him. 

Yuri's gaze does skirt over to Yuuri in the mirror. He watches Victor just as ardently, with his lip between his teeth and his fist tucked under his chin.

Yuri settles more to the right than exactly behind Victor. When he attempts the move it's definitely not as smooth an entrance in as he wants. But Victor moves quickly and so Yuri can't dwell, he just needs to follow.

"Don't limit the definition of beauty such that you're afraid of moving awkwardly. It won't do you any good in the long run." Alexei chimes.

Victor smiles up at him. Alexei returns the gesture, less enthusiastic of course.

Victor works backward, each knee straightening from a bend as his arms work the same. The delay of the dancers behind him helps to really see their technique. This must be why Alexei is here. To pick up the slack were Victor can't by being the actual judge of their ability. Yuri finds out after class that the good news is that Alexei likes him. He thinks he's just the right amount of  _ edgy. _

  
  


Summer

Yakov is on the phone in his home office, cursing into the receiver about a screw up with costumes for the summer dance show that the kid school has. And he's pissed because the show is just a couple weeks away and they need time for dress rehearsal.

Yuri lies on the couch, legs fallen over the arm while Dom-2 reruns play with the TV on mute so he can eavesdrop. It's mostly cursing because the situation has been explained through and the solution has been determined but someone has to get their head chewed off before Yakov can be calmed. Yuri feels bad for the poor asshole on the other line, but this is quality entertainment that makes his nerves tingle because everything is as it should be.

When Yakov quiets the drum of heavy rain becomes overpowering. The moisture makes the house humid. Potya watches from the window, amongst the photo of Lilia from like 1990 that Yakov likes to pretend to forget is there. Yuri's asked about it before and pretends to forget for his sake too.

He doesn't question Yuri much about his not coming home last night. He does make a comment about getting into trouble and Victor.

Dancing goes as well as it has been for a while. Yuri keeps up, does as well as anyone could, but he can't make a fuss. That shit about ugly dancing was a curve ball, but he does finally get to dance on his own, for someone actually important too. Nothing's set in stone, so he won't be truly content until that's a thing.

Still, as far as classes go, this one was good. Probably thanks to Victor, but fuck Victor. Until Yuri makes him leave his jaw on a floor somewhere and then he'd very much like to fuck with Victor about it.

He's been trying to find videos of Otabek DJing, but the majority of the things he's tagged in don't have him at the focus. 

The photo with Otabek peaks at 547 likes. The large majority of the comments are flagrant and disgusting and strange. One of them is JJ's. Like Mila, it's those fucking eyes and a thumbs up. 

As Yuri's luck would have it, it won't disappear from the pinned few that show up right under the photo. 

When he accidentally likes it -fucking hell- JJ DMs him from an account he didn't recognize or give a second thought to when it followed him, but apparently it's his fucking band account. 

It's chock full of mostly videos, but some photos are reposts of him or the bands members. Mostly JJ though. 

The video he sends is of him literally yelling into a mic, who ever films it must have been having an orgasmic experience because they zoom in on him and Yuri can hear the maniacal yelling. He's not even  _ that _ good. 

The next one he sends is a 20 second cut of him singing a slow song in his Canadian French. 

Yuri watches it several times, in which he focuses on the wrong things each time. JJ's fingers sliding up and down the mic stand. Seeing JJ's eyes are closed half way through the second time and he needs to see it again to tell if they were closed the whole time. Once more, because he needs to calm the tingling in his spine to really hear the singing by just watching him and forcing his brain to just accept that, yes, maybe JJ has an arguable good voice. 

He sends JJ a string of emojis: 👍🏻🎉🎸🙍🏼♀️😠🖕🏻🖕🏻✊🏻🙎🏻♂️🔫

**you use the girl emoji for yourself 🤔** That jerk asks.

**Fuck you it has long hair**

**i ❤ it**

Yuri leaves him on read for sending that heart emoji. He's not mad at it, quite the opposite, in fact. 

The fuzzy pressure that wells up in his core is the tipping point.

At which Yuri wonders what they're (Otabek and JJ) doing and when something will happen that gives pretext to texting Otabek or for Otabek to finally text him.

Having to entertain and distract himself in a quiet house with Yakov and Potya doesn't make for the most successful environment to not spend all his time drooping over furniture or his own limbs and thinking.

Yuri flips onto his stomach, drawing his legs under him and shoving the crown of his head into the cushion he doesn't sit on. His fingers grip the outer edges and he yells a very unfulfilling and harsh "Fuucck" into the fabric and cotton. 

The world doesn't stop and neither does the pressure inside of him. The rain is still heavy and Potya is turning her bored face away when he sees her, from his upside down and red view.

"Yuri!" Yakov yells in response. "What is the matter, boy!?"

"Nothing!" Not really, though.

He doesn't jerk off nearly as much as he necessarily  _ could _ , but in a moment of certain unclarity he nearly shoves a hand into his jeans on the couch. Yakov is just around the archway. He's gonna die if he doesn't get killed first.

Yuri grips his hair instead and wills it all away. The fuzzy feeling, the erection, the need to scream. Except, he opens his mouth and his the sound of his dismay is the rumble of a groan. None of it is gone.

Over dinner, Borscht Yakov has been stewing over for a while, he thinks. While brushing his teeth and avoiding jerking off in the shower as best he can, Yuri thinks. A tribulation that would only get worse, he was sure until his mind was riddled with the things he's been trying to keep at bay.

It's quite the fucking task to lie in bed -Potya kneading at his ass cheeks and stabbing her nails through his shorts while humidity radiates through the walls- and expect to sleep on this night of this particular day. It's the first moment he's had completely alone since the night before last, and even that one ends with Mila and Otabek and JJ and Victor.

There's a poster on his closet door of Rudolf Nureyev. He's not doing anything special, just a still arabesque with his head up, but the move isn't the attraction of the photo. It's the mood it invokes, in the shadow he casts and the lines of his body, hard and sculpted all over. Somehow, JJ showing off his favourite body shot months ago is suddenly on his mind.

Yuri rarely pays it much mind, though, tonight it reminds him of JJ. When he flips over to face the wall it's because he thinks of how much he's seen of JJ. That of which leaves little to imagine about what he  _ hasn't _ seen of JJ

The expanse of white deceives him by outlining the image of Otabek, hands in his sweats and the glasses on his face. His hair a mess of his fingers making. Something keeps him up and Yuri's there awake and waiting when Otabek comes to find him.

Shamefully, very reluctantly at first, Yuri shoves a hand between himself and his mattress and down his shorts. Under which, he doesn't wear underwear because he's going to sleep so what the fuck? He's half hard, has been for a while now, and he can't ignore it.

He lowers his entire face into his pillow and bites into the plush. It muffles his groans, sounds he doesn't initially make out of pleasure, but frustration. Eventually, it's a mixture of both, only one of which cumming into his fingers relieves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more time!👍


	10. high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you're about 20 something, you'll realize, too, that you can actually drink whenever you want. For any reason " Victor says.

Summer

It's nice that JJ already knows Yuri can be an jerk sometimes. It's what saves his ass from feeling particularly horrible and undeserving when he ignores him half the practice and plays it vehemently curt the other half. It works out well for the most part because Victor's getting demanding and revealing more and more of his perfectionist ego everyday that Yuri can't focus on them both like this.

So it's easy to pretend he doesn't notice JJ's looks. How often do people jerk off to the thought of another person and then go on with everyday life with those very people? Yuri's got too high a ratio in that category. 

After dancing, Yuri meets Mila at Espresso Bike, just 20 minutes from the Mikhailovsky for her. He takes the train from the theater and doesn't bother to fix his half bun until the hair tie literally falls to the ground. His physical being is present, but he can't account for the deepest parts of his mind, they're somewhere the rest of him would rather not be. Filled to the brim with imagery and cravings he shouldn't want. He doesn't have time to want. Dancing allows him to ignore everything.

He leaves his hair down, expecting it to be a similar length to Mila's, but the only redhead he finds has ringlets dancing against her tanned, bare sternum.

Mila smiles with all her teeth when she spots him, her champagne colored lip gloss covered lips and brings out her eyes. She's more naked than Yuri's expected her, but it is the middle of July and if you're going to dress in small cuts of cloth, now's the time to do it.

Yuri's smile is lopsided and flushed, but it's there. Even though he's sweaty and sore and today he broke the nail on his right big toe and he's gotta order new pointe shoes. Which sucks, because he doesn't  _ have _ to do anything en pointe, he just does it anyway.

"Yuri!" She exclaims, hopping from her seat to hug him first."I miss you! No one at the theater is fake mean, it's real when they're mean."

She shakes him from side to side in their embrace.

"Oh hush, hag."

The shop is like a cave. After entering the glass front, the rest of it is all beige and brick and cozy everywhere. It smells like bread and coffee and provides barely any cool escape from the outside heat. 

Yuri orders a latte, iced. An overly sweet cup of garbage with caramel flavoring because he feels like the occasion is worth a treat. Mila takes hers with just milk.

He gets the salmon salad with it. Mila orders the pancakes.

"Adulting isn't as fun as I thought it would be." She says, at some point after inquiring about how everyone is, everyone being Yakov, Victor and Lilia -none of whom she's ever been particularly close with- so Yuri keeps that answer short.

He grimaces. "What made you think it would be fun at all!?"

He's never even considered moving out. Hell, sometimes he's a hair's width from calling Yakov grandpa and...it's not that far off. If clearly stated love isn't being counted as an important criteria. He can barely flirt right for christs sake, let alone pay his own bills and keep up a home.

It's a daunting realization to have in a café, late afternoon with the sun out and drying up the moisture left by the heavy rain that pelted Piter all night and morning. 

Well, he does take care of Potya, so that much counts. 

Yuri brushes his hair behind his ears and blinks at Mila's screwed up face. 

Mila bites her lip and rolls her eyes to the ceiling."Don't laugh, but...rom-coms."

"I'm sorry, I have to laugh." As if on cue. Yuri stops stirring over his salmon and spinach, and covers his mouth with a single hand and barks. Mila waves off his disbelieving stare until he's finally opened his mouth to actually speak.

"Fucking movies?"

"Hear me out!" She pleads, yet again manicured hand held out to settle him.

"Even without all the magic and the happy coincidences, I thought that just having a career and visiting the cafés and decorating my apartment would really be the life, y'know?" She shrugs, pulling her cup up to her mouth by the hands and paying Yuri a pouty look.

She continues after a sip. "Well, it got old. I mean, I'm still having fun, but I don't know, something's missing." 

Yuri follows her gaze out of the window, at nothing special and looks back to find her staring at him like she's never looked away. "Something that makes you forget to have a drink with everything you do, y'know? That kinda thing."

"Yeah, I do actually." He's not obsessed with certain vices people often use to cope, but he gets it. "I haven't been drinking though, you fish." 

He's reluctant to say so, but if he's not telling Mila, who would he tell? "I've...been hanging out with JJ a lot." 

It's not as horrible to admit out loud as he thought it would be. That might have been the case for a while though, if he'd had anyone he wanted to tell anyway. 

"Wait, really?"Mila frowns for him. Then she wiggles her brows and purses her lips to make the dubiously accepting face she does. "Tall, dark and handsome, JJ?"

"That fucking tall, dark and annoying, JJ? Yeah. How many other JJ's would you know here?" 

She taunts him with her fork. "He's got a nice smile. His teeth are pretty. He's a little cocky too, You can tell he's from North America."

"A little cocky," Yuri mocks. "Just say Canada."

"He's got a nice ass too." Mila nods. Yuri's takes long, slurped sips of his latte and pointedly ignoring Mila's narrowing gaze and her sweet, small smile. "You have a nice ass too, don't worry."

She tugs her phone out of her pocket, the damn thing hanging on in her jeans pocket only by the grace of that hot pink pop socket, and starts tapping away. 

Yuri takes large bites of his salad in the meantime, drinking the water Mila had prior to his arrival in between each fork full. The bandage around her pink finger is not as tragically wrapped are it used to be. It's smaller now too.

"How's your pinky?" He asks absently.

"Oh, it's fine." She wiggles it and moves on quickly, and with motive too.

"So, what's up with the rude looking hottie on your Instagram?" Her tone is openly accusatory, like she's been waiting to bring it up. And she has, he can tell by how she flips the screen around and waves it at him like evidence. Which, it sort of is.

"How many undercut wearing guys do you know? And why haven't you shared them?"

Yuri hides the initial choking behind a cough and leaves his fork upright in his bowl. "That's Otabek."

He shrugs. Frowning, but not looking up, lest he allows her to read into him like she does every other fact of his life. "Only two. Both of them are assholes."

"Where's he from?"

"Kazakhstan. Almaty, if you know where ever the fuck that is."

"I don't!"

Mila pops the table and adjusts herself in the chair. "But he's cute, don't let him go back."

Then she leans in over her plate of half eaten pancakes and nearly gets her hair in the syrup, just to whisper. "Are you interested in him, Yuri?"

Yuri's been trying not to himself that very thing for days. The response he would give is beyond his own mental capacity at the moment. If it wasn't, and he was all right, he wouldn't have gone silent and sneered like an asshole, leaving Mila to draw the conclusions she would have anyway.

Because Yuri's like a picture book to the people who know him and he doesn't know why. He never really tells them anything. Not with his mouth at least. 

"Oh my god, you are, aren't you?"

Damn. Yuri pops the table back. "No! Don't just assume." 

"It's okay if you are, you wouldn't have to deny it, Yuri." Mila's back up right, nose in the air, eyes down cast on him in suspicion.

"There's nothing to fucking deny! He's just a guy that keeps showing up on his stupid bike and taking me along." After he says he says that he's extremely hopeless that Mila hasn't progressed to sex jokes.

"Oh my..." She giggles in her palms. "Oh, Yuri."

It turns to a full blown laugh."People don't just make it onto your Instagram, Plisetsky."

"Shut up, Babicheva. It was an accident and I just left it-"

"Whatever you say!" She chimes in before he's even done speaking. "I'm sorry, I just want you to be excited about it if you do."

"Like someone, I mean." She adds insult to injury making that chance to point it out again, feigning honest emotional connection. It's not all bad though, because the joking makes it feel a lot better than jerking off in the silence of his room before bed because he's just that pent up about it.

A moment passes that Yuri contemplates leaving. He slouches into the table and lies his head in palms and drums along his cheek with his fingers "I hate you."

"Anything new at the theater?" 

"I'm going to get a leading role tomorrow."

Which he hasn't gotten yet, but he's going to fucking get it. The universe has no other choice but to leave this bit of good at his door.

"We'll celebrate when you do!."

Mila nudges him under the table with the toe platform of the shoes she wear and leans in, mirroring him atop it. "You're too good for this to deny."

"I know. And Victor's working the choreo, so I've been seeing him nearly every fucking day."

"Well, I wish I could see Victor everyday. Have his greatness rub off on me too."

"Ugh."

In a moment that Yuri doesn't spend avoiding Mila's haughty looks and batting eyelashes. He feels his phone vibrate and jolts at the compelling need to grab it. He doesn't. Face down on the table even, Yuri feels like he knows who it is.

Mila staring at her phone again, dreamily in the way she tilts her head in her hands. "That undercut guys is really cute, Yuri." 

"He looks good next to you- you guys look good together."

"Are you even gay?" She asks. This time her hair does hit the syrup when she leans in, voice hushed and mostly mouthed like anyone remotely near them would care to make a spectacle out of him.

Yuri groans louder than he should in the quaint, little cave shop. "Shut up! He's just my friend!" He pushes his bowl away and crosses his arms on the strip of free space he makes. "And girls just aren't that interesting," he whispers under his breath. 

"That's cute, I love it."

Mila voice is soft. She pushes her plate away too, making it clink against Yuri's bowl.

"And you."

They make eye contact that manages to make his eyes burn. The corners get moist and he forgets who he is in the moment he nearly say  _ me too _ . 

Because he does sort of love Mila. "Blaah." Is all he's able to get out. Tongue and sneering included.

Mila hums."Y'know, he looks like he's got a huge cock too, like, he's  _ hung _ hung."

The most afflicting part of her outspoken notion is that they're still looking directly at one another when she says it and there isn't a thing Yuri can do about going red all the way to his ears.

Yuri's jaw goes slack for a few seconds, until he finds the will to yell "I'M-" 

He stands and his chair scrapes back with a harsh tearing sound. "Fucking leaving."

"Oh, come on!"

  
  


Summer

  
  


The notification he ignores with Mila is actually Otabek. The one point at which he's certain it'd be JJ, it isn't. Otabek messages him with his actual number and not Instagram. He doesn't check on what until they've parted. Saving the distradistraction for when Mila isn't standing witness.

And he hasn't gotten a text back since responding.

( **Do you wanna go for a ride?** Otabek asks.)

( **Fucking yes?** He sends back, albeit an hour later. But what kind of shitty planner would Otabek be if he meant immediately? Although, Yuri wouldn't exactly say no. He'd complain, but he wouldn't turn it down.)

Yuri's not sure what to make of Otabek anymore. Can he even be called a friend? Not in the same way Yuri would call JJ a friend, certainly. It's still strange to acknowledge that even.

Mila inspires him to get his shit somewhat together. The first step of which was pulling stupid shit out his closet and reminiscing over stupid shit.

But he doesn't actually plan on getting his shit together, he doesn't plan on doing anything with any of the dumb things that he used to think were cool. He's not bagging and throwing anything away, he's just bored. Perhaps even nostalgic.

Digging through the boxes of bullshit and shoes at the bottom of his closet, Yuri finds his Yoga mat. Covered in illustrated cats in various yoga positions.

It's dusty and makes him cough when he falls onto his ass and crosses his legs under him on the floor. He rolls the thing out before him as his chest spasms and he coughs. Dusty and the corners are a little fucked up, but in pretty good condition otherwise.

Potya hop off his bed and walks across the mat immediately after spotting it.

It's been rolled up so long that it won't lie flat on either edge. Yuri sets shoes boxes on the corners to manipulate it. The boxes with his snow boots and the platform doc martens. A box stuffed full of fucked up point shoes and the last with leopard print sneaker he used to wear when he was 15, but they're too fucking small now.

Puberty didn't hit him the hardest, but it made his feet grow and ruined his balance for months. All just to make him only a few centimeters and fearful of a part two to the whole ordeal. He didn't get a ton of fucking body hair or a deep ass voice. He does get a lot harder all over though. He's never been very big, but as he stretches in height, his muscles stretch tautly over his frame and he doesn't look just skinny as all hell, toned rather. 

He's average height, his jawline is relatively the same and yet he's still paying for the amount of sleep debt he accrued in 2017 while playing catch up.

As Potya cleans herself at center on the mat, a single foot shot up straight in the air for the best access to her ass and licking, Yuri pulls the old things out of his closet and reminisces about the crude and worse, foul mouthed person be was just years ago. Not that none of them deserved his bullshit.

There's a pair of black Ray Bans he stole from Victor, but not actually, Victor willing let him into his closet and saw him put then on and withheld all protest when Yuri kept them on. 

He finds them in the duffle bag he carries when it's immoderately cold and his coat is too plush to comfortably wear his backpack.

His phone rings and Yuri hops to his knees emphatically to snatch it off the dresser, glasses low on his nose.

The undue way his eagerness just vanishes when it turns out to be Victor fucks him up just as much as the fact that it isn't Otabek on the other end of the connection.

Victor's smiling face is all he sees, requesting a facetime session. 

Brows tugged to the bridge of his nose, lips twisted to the side...he contemplates ignoring it. The call ends while he does.

Victor's persistent today and calls back immediately.

Yuri answers, kicking all the shit spilled out onto the floor back into the closet. It's all old shit he doesn't wear anymore, accessories he can't make work and ballet things fanned out in the doorway whilst watching Victor get himself situated with standing his phone up on some surface in an area of his house that Yuri can't discern just yet. His face is unnecessarily close to the screen.

"You're not that fucking old, Vitya." Yuri jeers. 

Victor is, however, old enough to ignore his taunting and tsk him. Once he's got the damn thing standing and settles back he pulls Yuuri into view. They're in Victor's closet, in white robes.

"Come over for dinner tonight?" He suggests, gripping Yuuri into the frame longer than Yuuri's welcoming hand wave and smile can last. He looks confused now. ("Hello, Yurii..oh," he sounds under his breath while Victor speaks.)

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Yuuri is a great cook and you're not doing anything special, I'm certain."

"Fuck you, I have a life, okay!?" Yuri's mouth goes flat…He has somewhat of one anyway. 

Yuri huffs and throws himself onto the floor, phone held from above between carefully placed fingers. "Besides, I don't feel like getting on the tram."

"Take a car, I'll reimburse you." Victor says immediately like money's no object. Though, to him, it really isn't. 

"Why is dinner so important?" 

"Because I have asked nicely." Victor clasps his hands together before him and bands in real close to the screen. "I have to talk to you, too."

"Is it about your play engagement? Because I'm not that interested." 

Yuuri sputters in Japanese somewhere off screen.

"Oh, Yurio. Hush. Put on some clothes and come!"

"You're fucking annoying."

"Bye, now! See you soon." Victor blows him a kiss, complete with his fingers pressing his lips and blown out to his screen. Yuuri waves in from off screen. 

Yuri doesn't get his shit together. He travels, on a night misty with rain, to Victor's apartment while Potya rubs on and scents everything Yuri leaves scattered over the floor. He'll shove it all back into the closet later.

  
  


Summer

  
  


The apartment is noisy. Laughter and clapping echo throw the door. It's just the two of them, he can tell, but they're so obviously drinking.

Yuri's got no reason to be sure what he walks into, but he almost pulls back and turns to walk out when Victor spots and him and all but climbs over the couch to run to him. He's nearly huddled over in the corner against the door, anxiety on the rise because he just knows he's about to be mildly assaulted.

And still, he just likes to not be so close to Victor. 

"Hi!"

"Don't you dare hug me, I swear to god, Victor-"

Yuuri's there too, of course, because why wouldn't he be? Hanging off the couch upside down. Waving too eagerly at Yuri and smiling so hard his eyes smile too. His drunken will gives Yuri nightmares.

Yuri flinches as he's certain he missed his chance to avoid a hug, but instead it's an arm draped over his shoulder and a champagne glass being shoved into his face. The scent wafts in the air before he opens his eyes to see the glass flute.

"Um, just what the hell are you two doing?" he asks, tilting away from Victor's relaxed form, casually using him as an armrest. He takes the champagne because as inessential as he feels to the current moment, why would he turn it down?

"Celebrating!" Victor cheers, his cupid bow spreads as he smiles. His lips really are heart shaped. It's irking to see Victor drag Yuuri's face to his own and press a kiss to his lips and then each cheek. Then his lips once more.

Yuri gulps down his champagne. "Please stop."

He discards his backpack onto the floor and purposely walks between them. Yuuri sits back on his heels in the couch and Victor drops a hip, arms crossed.

"Hello, Yurio!" Yuuri's clasped hands lie in his lap and the huge smile on his face surrounded by red. "We're celebrating because-"

Victor's limp and manicured finger secure Yuuri's lips against his teeth, like he's pressing buttons. Victor immediately whips his head around to smile creepily at Yuri.

"Celebrating what?" He deadpans. The scowl returns to his face. "You pick a freakin' date yet?" 

"When you're about 20 something, you'll realize, too, that you can actually drink whenever you want. For any reason." Victor says. 

He shrugs with outstretched arms and Yuuri's flying into them before too long. "And you'll wonder why you aren't at times!"

"Right." Doubtful, Yuri presses his lips together and tilts his head.

"Dancing is a very good reason to drink." Yuuri interjects. His and Victor's faces crushed together and he makes him slur his words.

"Right." Victor hums. His arms are cupped under Yuuri's and his hands are nearly cradling the fucking man. Yuri can tell he's not that far gone, but the same can't be said for Yuuri.

Victor hold onto him and caresses his everything like second nature and Yuri can't ignore it like he wants to. Fortunately, he doesn't get mad about it. Not anymore. As if he needed another reminder though, but these idiots have no idea. They're shameless.

He's halfway through pouring more champagne into his glass when the smell that greets him isn't actually champagne at all. The bottle isn't even a champagne bottle. What?

Lying on it's side, on the tray atop Victor's stupid ottoman chair coffee table thing, is the actual champagne bottle. They must have saved him a glass and moved onto the hard stuff long ago.

"Fucking lushes."

Weren't they supposed to have food here anyway? Yuri doesn't smell anything good.

"Wasn't there supposed to be food here?!"

He keeps pouring. Fuck it.

He's had a week. There's vodka in his champagne flute and a few slips of his hand has more of it dripping down the glass and soaking onto Victor's nice, expensive looking beige and blue carpet.

Yuri raising his eyes to look at them just long enough to be sure they don't notice. Of course they don't, still huddled together whispering quite fucking successfully considering how he seems to hear and see just about everything when in any vicinity even remotely close to them. 

"Hey," he slams the vodka bottle down and snaps between them. The sound echoes loud against his palm. "Fucking quit it!"

Victor reaches out for him instead.

Yuri takes a step back. Victor, with Yuuri tucked into his side and stumbling onto, gets closer and catches Yuri that time because Yuri doesn't actually shy away from the closeness.

Victor's not one to shy away from unobstructed eye contact. Contact in general, naturally. His eyes gleam with an eminence Yuri knows all too well. Victor tucks him under his other arm by slipping his arm around Yuri's shoulder and wrapping his long, warm fingers around Yuri's cheeks. Victor pulls his face close to his own. 

"I shouldn't tell you this Yura, but I know that you've been so impatient that I'm being nice." He nods. "The listing will be posted Monday, but…"

Yuri can smell the alcohol on his breath. He has no idea what's coming, but the vodka is making him hot. Victor makes him hotter. The things he feels are fallacious and erratic.

"Alexei wants to have you lead, for the Phlegmatic act."

Of the number of things Yuri could do in response, he picks the most passive, of which is to do nothing. He blinks at Victor and allows the several waves of emotions to serge through him blankly. It's surely what it must feel like to want to jump, scream, break shit and hurt another person simultaneously. 

He can't translate any of that into action while Victor lays his stupid head on Yuuri's and keeps Yuri tucked under his weight on the other side.

He was almost certain there was no extraneous factor and that they were drinking just because, the excuse being love or something else that could just drain him entirely and make him regret coming over.

Yuri uses the aimless energy buzzing around inside him to down the flute full of Vodka.

Then toss the empty glass onto Victor's couch, at which Victor hisses sorely and him.

"About. Fucking. Time!" Yuri yells.

Yuri balls his fists up and throws an aimless punch at Victor's chest, for which Victor holds one of his pecs with a dramatically pained face while Yuuri screeches.

More expletives leave Yuri's mouth in a gumbled, breathless flurry.

Halfway through a second flute of vodka, his phone chimes.

Otabek chooses the most opportune moments to drop into his peripherals and demand attention. Here he has Victor offering him some form of companionship, a commodity that Yuri's been violently seeking for years. For as much as he reluctantly relishes it, he needs to leave too. It's not them at all.

**Are you free?** Otabek asks, hours late and right on time.

Yuri sends his location.

Summer

  
  


He doesn't stay for dinner and Victor protests about it. Yuuri just smiles all soft the way he does, like he wouldn't care either way and why should he? 

It's moist outside, Yuri can feel the mist on his face, dampening his hair and making his clothes stick to him in the hollow sections that hang adjacent to his skin. It's been so hot lately that he's not surprised. The dark clouds and the humidity don't serve to discourage him any more than make the thought of driving through wet winds appealing. He's not worried though.

Otabek's already holding out the helmet as Yuri comes forward, out of the heavy green doors to Victor's building. 

"It looks like it's gonna rain." He says when Yuri's just steps away, arms out, fingers gripping into the thing. Both of them hold it in the middle, the halfway point between them meeting. "You have a jacket?"

"Nah." Yuri looks up and studies the sky. It feels like it'll rain. He contemplates telling Otabek about Victor's premature gift to him, ultimately deciding against it because it feels untrue and he wants to see the listing with everyone else when he gloats.

"But fuck it, it's just water." He shrugs. A smug grin spreads across Yuri's face as he pulls the helmet over his head and looks foolishly eager while adjusting it. It's stuffy and warm inside. He forgets he still has Victor's glasses tucked over his head, stemming through strands of hair pulled up into his half bun.

"Hop on, then." Otabek's head jerks and the motion is like the tug it takes to pull Yuri into motion.

Buoyant and quick, Yuri bounds off the curb and hops into place. Otabek's still got a foot on the ground, the weight settles a bit heavier with Yuri on board.

"Where to, Altin?"

"I don't know yet." Otabek turns a little to give Yuri a quick faintly apologetic over his shoulder. He twists one of the handles absently, filling the time with fidgeting, with one hand and taps on his own thigh with the other.

"You're not a very good planner are you?" Yuri tilts to see Otabek's face again, over the relaxed arm he pokes at his woolen dress pants covered thigh with. Brows furrowed, but not discouraged. More than the ride, Yuri may have been eager for Otabek's presence. Much the same, Yuri doesn't have a location in mind either.

He can see the white of Otabek's cutaway spread collar, fitting around his neck under the denim collar of his jacket. He's not in black today.

"Not really," Otabek says. "I thought I'd just drive and think of something by the time I got here."

"Yeah?"

"It didn't work out." Otabek admits. A single shake of his head and a flattened twist of his mouth really gives life to his attempt and failure at thoughtfulness. Yuri's not dead set on making it the most meaningful night out, so there's nothing to be expected anyway.

"Apparently," Yuri taunts with the toes of his trainers kicking into the backs of Otabek's ankles, forgetting that his toe is still a painful mess. "Just drive some more, I guess."

"We can do that." Otabek settles up and Yuri finally gets to loop his arms around and enjoys it too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's 10 :)


	11. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi 👋

Summer

  
  


"Hey," JJ crouches next to him and falls to a sit. He pulls his feet together and inward, as close to his crotch as his stretching thighs will allow. "Looks like you're getting what you want."

"It sure fucking does." Yuri says, bending down and reaching to hold his ankles. His hands wrapped around his calves as his hair falls out over his feet and his ballet flats, stray and lengthy again. He expects JJ to make a comment, almost hopes for it even. When he breathes his stomach presses into his thighs. JJ says nothing. 

"Hey." Yuri says finally, in Russian.

He's only gotten a fraction of what he wants, but it's a good fucking start. He takes great fucking pride in it. His penchant for attention isn't fake. Not his best qualities, Yuri can't even say he has "best qualities," but this is just the start. He's going to take this metaphorical baton and fucking run with it.

Barring nothing drives him fucking crazy before the end of this run. Like the way JJ won't cross too far over the boundary between them anymore. Anymore has only been like a few days, but that's longer than Yuri's been conditioned to accept. 

There's a line, always has been, from which they both stand an equal distance in opposing directions. Two weeks ago, JJ gladly over stepped, progressively navigating Yuri like it was fun. Two weeks ago he did.

JJ's gaze turns down, back to his stretching, pitifully offbeat. The sad excuse for a grin he holds would be a good try at maintaining normalcy with anyone else, but with Yuri, not so much.

JJ probably doesn't even realize he notices. And maybe that's actually Yuri's fault. 

No, it is most definitely Yuri's fault. 

He frowns at JJ openly, but JJ's not looking to know. And yet he's always supposed to be paying attention...It's like he's conditioned Yuri for it and now he's being finicky and Yuri's being a dick. Or, maybe, just reading things all wrong because he can do that exceedingly well...sometimes.

"I'll best you next time, Plisetsky." JJ spreads his legs and bends for a second position stretch. He fucking winks at him, but Yuri wants more. Entirely to his dismay. He's missing all the extraness and has no choice but to just deal with it. 

Yuri grabs onto the barre and bends forward, pulsing down several times before lifting a leg and arching into an attitude stretch. His legs goes up easy and, for nothing, he twists out sideways without losing height or stumbling. Over extended.

"Like to see you try." Yuri retorts. He sticks his tongue out, but JJ maintains the same fraudulent half smile. No teeth or anything. More Russian.

"Thanks for coming to my show." JJ switches sides and reaches for his other foot. He says nothing about Yuri's mild contortions.

"That was a while ago." Yuri settles back and switches legs.

"Nice to know you had a good time." JJ wiggles his brows and stands. He moves to the barre, a considerable way down. Enough that Yuri looks at the length of the barre and traces it to JJ's hand and the time it takes him to do it is just a meter too long.

"I never said that!" He groans through his teeth, in english finally, at JJ's back.

"I think you did anyway." JJ bends on the barre, both hands grasp and stretching his back. He tosses a slight glance back to say: "Otabek does too."

"So you gossip like hags?"

"Huh?" JJ lifts his head.

Yuri smiles slyly and gets into first position. Lying a foot out angled and lax, Yuri raises a hand to extend his sides. "Oh, now there's something you don't know." And oh well, because Yuri's not telling him. He can ask Otabek.

JJ bites his lips at him and Yuri holds the hard stare between them. It's almost a dare for JJ to turn away. He's being petty, Yuri knows that, but it doesn't inspire any shame in him.

"Thinking about me, huh?" JJ asks.

He stands out of his bend, leaning on the barre with a tight grip and a clenched jaw. Yuri can see the way the muscles pull below his ears. He settles up straight too. The tension is as heavy as Victor literally throwing his weight over Yuri, touching him, whispering to him. The feeling, similar in that Yuri is compelled by a force he can't name to tense all the muscles inside him.

He's bitter. He's been holding it in. Hell fucking yes, he wants to know. It'd be so simple. And it better be good because he's been thinking far too much of JJ's canadian french accent in his face for it to be something stupid. 

JJ smiles, dropping everything in the moment to take a step forward. "You could kill a man with that look, Yuri Plisetsky." He doesn't say it in his not so bad, but definitely could be better version of Russian. English rather. 

And Yuri would. He'd kill JJ if it meant he didn't get boners at night because of him. It's absolutely tragic that he's mostly curious of whether JJ would admit to having the same problem if it came down to asking.

"I could kill you." He could just about scream at this point too. 

"I'd let you," JJ says back with a airy, mocking snort. Of course the sturdy look and his squared off shoulder falters at the realization of what he's said.

Just passed JJ, Yuri can see into the mirror, and across the room through that reflection he can see Yuuri's eyes trained on them like there's something to be entertained about. He's clearly concerned. It really brings into perspective how it looks to stare at JJ with feigned hate in his gaze at that stupid, newly twisted grin on JJ's face. 

What the fuck is he even doing? This is stupid.

"Good Morning!"

Victor's his bell. His melodic savior, drenched in black and floating into sight on feather light feet in golden split sole flats. Alexei and Anna and a few other people that Yuri has been obligated to please to the best of his natural fucking abilities for the last few months are here as well. Each one more silently demanding than the next.

"We've got a lot to get done before dress rehearsals!" Victor gives them a single clap, and practically prances to the center. They won't practice with mirrors today.

"Ugh, move." Yuri pushes passed JJ before he can settle his sight back on Yuri. He makes sure to ignore the grunt and faint stammer that comes from him.

Yuri's busy and doesn't want the distraction anymore. Not now. Not ever really, but especially not before his first real defining career moment. Though, he knows well that sometimes you can't help the things you want.

Scene by scene they run through the show until Victor is pleased and Alexei is done asking to see things again. After the themes, they judge the pairs and the solos follow. Yuri follows. He puts every bit of pent of energy into every leap and bound.

No, he doesn't take it personal when Alexei asks him to do it several times too many. Fucking again and again, just because. Victor, cross armed and concentrated solely on him, is motivation of the worse and best kind simultaneously. But a force behind him all the same, regardless of its nature. He does it as many times as they want to see.

  
  


Summer

"Hey, Yurio."

Yuuri Katsuki must have followed him. Conveniently finding him on a balcony with the curtains behind him closed and overlapping at his violent attempt at drawing them isn't convenient, it's intrusive. He obviously wants to be alone, but Yuri can't have that. He can't have his sanity or his lonesome.

Yuuri obviously doesn't get it. He's too helpful. Too nice. He probably assumes he can help. He can't, of course. Unless he's capable of unsticking the arrow from his ass because Yuri's definitely, undeniably  _ in like _ with Jean-Jacques Leroy. A name which sounds more pompous and more French when mocked in his thoughts. 

Not the most tragic of circumstances he's had to deal with, but it's something. 

"Katsudon." He mutters.

"I don't know how I feel about that nickname." Yuuri steps into the space and lets the curtain close with a gust behind him. He made it to changing out of his tights and into some regular fucking clothes before coming.

On the stage below there's women, from one of the themes dancing in sequence together. Yuri was watching at least somewhat. He's only there to calm himself. His toes are throbbing. His legs feel like jelly and if he laughs his abdomen feels like there's fire between the muscles and his organs. He's especially sore because all he's done is dance. 

All week. He danced and did nothing else. Except the brooding. There's been a lot of that.

"Too bad, it's yours." Yuri growls. He sinks low into the chair and scoots up to hang his feet on the barrier. His hands hang limply over the armrests. Like a ragdoll, the way he lies out. 

"Well, I guess I'm grateful for you anyway." Yuuri laughs. He takes the other chair and scoots forward too, except not to hang his feet. He leans on his elbows, resting his chin in the crease between them. Yuri narrowly watches him move about, the mild disbelief is etched into his brow line.

"Why would you be grateful for me?" Yuri asks. He wouldn't know him if not for Victor's need for romantic companionship. He squints at Yuuri, lost as to whether he should feel complimented or something else.

"Because you're sort of inspiring." Yuuri stammers a little and then turns to him. "Are you okay though?

When Yuri doesn't answer, Yuuri turns ahead, his eyes to the ladies, but his focus remains on Yuri. He goes on.

"I mean, I saw you and JJ and it looked pretty intense."

"Katsudon," Yuri starts, a breath from telling him to mind his own shit, but he loses his nerve for it at the sight of Yuuri's gentle peering. He deflates of everything and settles on "nevermind." 

No one's ever called him inspiring, if he was listening he's probably take it as a compliment too. 

Except, Yuri recalls Victor doing exactly that. Months ago, Yuri can even remember his exact words.

"Are you close?"

"With JJ?" He barks, thrusting his foot hard against the wall. "That's hilarious." He stomps on the half wall with every syllable. And it is sort of true. Yuuri's having asked at all makes denying it feel childish. 

They aren't close, that's not how Yuri would put it. He never imagined having to put it another way. It feel exposed and dirty to need to.

"He's just too annoying to ignore." He lies. It's just easier even when he knows Yuuri's shy, not stupid.

"I don't mean to pry, I…" Yuuri speaks so softly Yuri doubts he even know what he's ventured up here to fucking accomplish. Realistically, at the very least he just isn't sure how to do what it is he means to.

"I don't know. Everyone always has better advice for me than I have for them." He says. The pensive look he gives to the few people left down below doesn't fail to annoy Yuri again.

"Well, I don't need advice." Yuri mutters. What would Lilia say to him? What particularly frown would Yokav give him? Would Nikolai notice before Yuri had time to get so beat down by it.

Yuuri's not about to make this somber fucking moment about his pathetic attempt at what? Bonding? 

So, Yuri hops up and invades Yuuri's space and takes his hand, with stiff fingers, and whacks him on the back of his head. "So don't start kicking yourself for that."

Yuuri barely jumps, obviously aware and expecting of the potential backfire. He grimaces and cups the back of his head. The crabby look he turns on Yuri is more forgiving than Yuri deserves. Which is often the case. He really should be nicer to the guy. 

"Okay." Yuuri says, a hand held out to settle Yuri out of his assaulting mood as he concedes. "Sometimes, just because you don't want advice doesn't mean you don't need to talk." 

Yuri doesn't want to do that either. He doesn't. But he does it anyway. Granted, it's not at all the right thing, but he's got to make certain headway before any real progress is made. Everything feels stagnant when, in fact, he's the one lagging. Reality is going just fine.

"Why do you even like Victor?" He asks. Maybe Yuuri can help him make sense of why anyone likes anyone. The feelings are fleeting and come with a certain degree of dependability he's yet to want in another person. Unlike Victor.

There is an equality in JJ and him that feels unconditional and natural. Nothing more, nothing less. That's what JJ gives. 

"Why do you?" Yuuri asks back, quick. Which, isn't what Yuri expects, but perhaps what he gets for being a bully.

"Huh!?" 

And his voice reaches new heights. He never thought himself capable of the pitch he summons, it's throaty and sudden. With it comes no initial physical instincts, though his finger do curl into his fist. he just wants Yuuri to  _ shut the fuck up _ . Like, immediately.

"Oh my god!" Yuuri hops frantically and nearly falls over the balcony with the chair tumbling in his wake. His reaction is enough to prove he  _ actually _ meant it exactly  _ like _ that. "I mean- I

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?"

"I'm sorry, Yurio." Yuuri sighs and slouches such that he's like a popped balloon, shrinking and weakening with every moment. His breath escapes him like he's been holding it for a while. 

"It's just, I've liked Victor for a while and so it's kinda easy to see it-"

He reddens with every word, his brows knitting in further with each one too. His foot, deeper into his mouth as though this was a mistake he never meant to make.

"Shut up! Just," Yuri's at a loss. "Stop!"

Yuuri arranges the chair back, taking his time to adjust himself while Yuri chews into his lip like food. His glare isn't as hellish as it is tragically embarrassed.

"Fuck you, Katsudon, you don't know anything!" 

"It's true, isn't it?"

Whether it is or isn't, Yuri would prefer, majorly, not to be having this conversation. It's the watered down description of what Yuri feels and he means to let the matter die, unmentioned and lifeless. He could live several lifetimes never having this conversation. Especially not with Yuuri, who practically lives with Victor, dwelling in Victor's home more often than his own. Yuuri, who sleeps and eats and probably showers with Victor. Yuuri, who does all of that while having the same name for fucks sake. 

The universe really means to screw him in with this fever dream of an interaction.

"Shove it, okay! Just stop." 

This won't be the circumstance that bonds them. 

Yuri drops into his chair. He wishes now that he'd stayed back stage and changed out of his dance clothes so he could just fucking leave. Peeling off his tights and that fucking dance belt is extra unappealing in the moment.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up. I really didn't mean to upset you." Yuuri obviously means to speak so softly so as to make a point. "I just think it's important to be able to tell someone what's weighing on you, Yurio."

He's more transparent to everyone than he means to be and it's quite horrific to realize. "Ugh, when did you become a rational fucking adult?" 

"Well, I like to think I've always been that." Yuuri shrugs. He pulls his chair closer to Yuri than it was and places his ass back in the seat.

"Shut up." Yuri says flatly, not meaning much by the comment anyway. Like filler words. "I don't like Victor. I mean, it's not like that. I'm not up here because of Victor!"

He can feel Yuuri looking, but with the blush he can't help, thankful for the dimness of the lighting amongst them, Yuri keeps his eyes on the stage. Empty now. The extravagantly decorative curtains drawn closed.

"Then, what  _ is _ wrong with you?" Yuuri asks.

  
  


Summer

  
  


The great thing about dress rehearsals for this performance is that Yuri's dress, everyone's dress really, is barely different than that of a regular ballet class.

The biggest difference is that he has to wear white tights, which means he can't skip his belt and just wear tight-as-hell briefs. Which, maybe it's not so bad because he's too excited and hell bent on consummating his status to care much for the strip of fabric up his ass. Which, looks pretty good in white tights actually. Also a plus.

JJ looks at him and Yuri looks at JJ. It goes unspoken, but respected that JJ doesn't screw with his vibe so close a performance. In which he's not just impressing the audience, but the theater in general. The personnel is even more important than the audience. He's got something to live up to. Still, they share glances and sometimes, JJ smiles. Sometimes, it's still big and toothy, but flimsy in the eyes. Sometimes, Yuri flips him off in response.

Yuri can't explain it, but it's stupid. Like, the heart emoji and a boner, stupid. Yuuri says he should try his best to keep from overthinking, because he knows  _ personally what it can do, _ but when Yuri overthinks he uses the tension to fuel himself. They're not the same.

To think, the conversation only happened because Yuuri thinks he's being strangled internally by his love for Victor Nikiforov. 

Yuri is exhausted.

Victor's in regular clothes. His sweats are grey and his crew neck is a dark blue and long sleeved. His hair has gotten longer than Yuri's seen it in a year. Now brushing at his jaw. He keeps it pulled back with a headband. The long pieces from his crown spill down over the black band.

"Isn't it exciting, Yurio?" He grins, so bright his eyes turn to crinkles. Yuri's watching him, glide the entire way over until he's bent at his hips and smiling in Yuri's face.

Yuri rolls his eyes and keeps at bandaging that blood crusted toe of his. In 24 hours he'll be back on the stage, in a pair of tights and a V neck much the same as he wore today. Body high off painkillers to keep from feeling his toe throb in such an important moment.

"I'm excited to see Yakov and Lilia, I'm sure they'll be proud. Lilia will even cry."

"Lilia? Crying?" Yuri barks out a flat laughs and drops the attention he gives Victor right away. With him bent like that Yuri can see down his shirt a little, right across the pale expanse of skin beneath the fabric, and it makes him think of Yuuri.

"Oh, I've seen her cry. Not for me, but I have." Victor whispers around his hand. Yuri can only stare at him, the toes of his feet held between his palms. Yuuri's right about him. He is happy just being there and present, even when not performing for himself.

If this was months ago he'd be pissed, but Victor was too big a presence in his life not to formulate some kind of twisted infatuation. It's hardly weird, if maybe a little unhealthy. Right? Yuuri hasn't been around all ten years.

"Lilia's not gonna cry, Vitya." 

Yuri wishes he could have articulated that. He liked the idea of Victor. Perhaps too much, even still, but that's all.

"Maybe not, but she'll be so happy, I'm sure!"

Victor stands to wave down someone else and Yuri turns his head back and forth in search of Yuuri. He'll be present tomorrow too. Dancing, not alongside Yuri, but he will be. He's not around for Yuri to scope him out now, though.

Yuri crawls to his feet and heads to go change. He's happy to get out of his clothes today. Backstage isn't quiet in the least, and everyone is too distracted to notice Yuri's near naked ass changing.

He's been meaning to text Otabek. He wants him to be there and lowkey hopes JJ's shared that sentiment with him at least.

Still, Yuri fancies the opportunity to him that he's finally got a chance to come see Yuri dance. For real. But Otabek lives with JJ and so when Otabek comes to mind so does JJ and vice versa. They're like a pair.

**hey jerk** Yuri sends

**what are you doing?**

  
  


Summer

  
  


Otabek intends to do homework when Yuri reaches out to him. Yuri almost chalks the idea of hanging out entirely, but Otabek asks if he wants to come along and how could he say no. He should be resting, but he just can't.

The campus library has private study rooms and Otabek also intends to hole up in one of them and do his opera class homework that he's been putting off apparently. Yuri doesn't miss this life at all, what little of it he actually experienced.

"Otabek?”

Yuri is not into opera. It's not that he's ever considered the artform, just that listening to it now really helps him draw that conclusion. Otabek has to be for the sake of his education this summer semester standing, but that sounds like an excuse as Yuri has to hear them and has nothing in particular to do but watch Otabek while they play. These stories- because that's what they sound like more so than just songs.

_ Alla porta della stanza mia; _ _  
_ _ Moriva e mi salvava! _

Yuri feels the hair stand on his arms each time she belts and her voice raises and...just frantic. She's frantic and desperate to share her plight like it's not sympathy she's looking for, but acknowledgement. For someone to hear her sorrow.

_ Fu in quel dolore _ _  
_ _ che a me venne l'amor! _

“Otabek…?”

There is some soreness in his thighs. His hamstrings quiver when he stands. That hasn't happened in pretty long, but his hips are open and loose. He could probably throw both his feet behind his head if his thighs didn't feel like today he discovered an entirely new muscle and worked it thin. 

Otabek sits on the floor, glasses on his face and just sort of ignoring Yuri. His laptop is in his lap and his notes are in Kazakh so Yuri can't creep on him and understand it anyway. The music plays loudly, seemingly louder than the volume is turned because opera has that affect and they're in an enclosed space. The bluetooth speaker is on the coffee table he pushed aside to fit himself next to the couch comfortably.. 

He keeps listening to it over. Over and over. As if trying to discover something he has yet to consider, but Yuri’s slowly dying with every tremor of her vocal cords. 

Neither of them speaks Italian and Otabek sure as hell isn't looking at the translations. Yuri can see his computer screen well enough. He has a nice view of Otabek's thoughtful side profile as well and that certainly doesn't read understanding.

He was in the midst of getting his insta stalking fix in, but he can't focus on the highlighter Christophe Giacometti -Victor's uber gay friend from the Royal Ballet all the way in London- reviews in an instagram video when he's got tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. 

The liquid burns his eyes and dances down his temples. He leaves his phone on the couch somewhere above his head.

“Damn it, Beka?”

Yuri snaps his fingers. If he reaches some he can do it right in Otabek's ear. If he stretches his fingers out he could probably stick one in his ear. Replace just what's obstructing his hearing.

“I'm listening, Yura,” he says, reaching for his phone and starting the damn song over once more. “Is there something wrong?” He taps around some more and the song goes on again, having bled into some piano rendition of something for just a few seconds.

Yeah, there is. Yuri takes a deep breath before saying what. Otabek doesn't sound exasperated with him, but Yuri scowls nonetheless. The one good thing about this particular situation is that he doesn't feel inclined at all to think of anything or anyone. Not even JJ.

“Yeah, we've heard this song about a dozen times and I am going to shatter if she hits one of those notes again.”

He kicks his feet hard to the cushions, it does little more than a soft thump, and Otabek looks at him then. Yuri drops his head to the side to look back when he notices the movement.

_ Ne' miei occhi e il tuo cielo! _ _  
_ _ Tu non sei sola! _

“What do you think it means?” Otabek asks. His eyes squinch just below his water lines as he waits for Yuri’s answer, likely not as abstract as it should be for the topic. Otabek is the one in school for this shit.

Yuri looks at his eyes. His slightly parted lips and his short, thick eyebrows. His eyelashes when he blinks. Yuri doesn't know what to say, his cheeks stain pink as he makes the considerations. Otabek gets really into music, but it's a fitting realization.

“I don't know, something sad? I don't speak any fucking Italian.”

Otabek nods quickly as if to say of course not, and move on. He gestures out with his hands to grab the book on the table and goes on. Yuri watches the ceiling and listens. 

“We're discussing aria in class and I want to know what you make of the song,” Otabek says, flipping through the pages.

"Well, it just feels depressing. Like a really fucking depressing story.” Yuri pressing his fingers into his stomach, into the outline of actual abs. 

“She is singing of how her mother's murder sent her into something like depression.”

Otabek says it like he's going to keep talking, as if there's more to add, but it's easy to deduce what the details will be. His silence rouses an answer from Yuri.

“Huh,” he sighs. “Fuck.” He's forced to focus on Otabek's presence now that they sit in silence. Staring at each other.

“Yeah.”

“And,” Otabek stresses. He thinks for a second. “A story isn’t too far off if you interpret it that way in Italian opera. It's more of an expressive art. I think.”

Yuri head turns away, not to watch his mouth make the words he speaks. Otabek has the beginnings of a shadow on his jaw, following it takes him to the undercut, which grows out too quick for Otabek's sake. He'll need to trim it soon.

“Sometimes, when there is a singer, it's heard in their voice how the narrative changes. What they're trying to evoke transcends even the inability to understand the language.” He nods as if to assure himself. He looks at Yuri to give him that small curve of his mouth. “The way it's recited stands to be enough in some cases.”

Yuri makes haste at not dwelling on it too much. Finding occupation within the seams of the couch cushions and in his hair. “Well, she definitely gets the points across. I cried a little."

“I have another,” Otabek announces. He snatches up his phone again and Yuri can hear the strikes of his fingers on the screen.

Yuri curls his knees up to his chest and hugs them close. He hisses softly at the tug just below his ass and then stretches his feet out to the ceiling. He keeps forgetting what he's done.

Otabek is sort of smiling now. Like actually really smiling. It's small and Yuri can barely see his teeth, but barely is significant. Nothing like that evilly, mused face he makes when he's playing. His lips look nice spread like that. The slight smirk thing really works for him. The narrow and smoldering gaze thing really does it for Yuri in particular, but Otabek has no idea what he's capable of.

Lots of things just work for Otabek. 

“Do you ever get inspired by the dead guys for your mixes?” 

“Yeah,” Otabek says and Yuri feels just a little less brainless. “I play Mozart in nightclubs all the time, Yurik.”

Yuri turns onto his side to throw out a leg to kick Otabek's knee. Flailing to stay on the damn couch because he's reaching for it just too far. “You asshole. Don't answer me with sarcasm-” Yuri’s words finish off with the crack in his voice, the onset of a laugh. Otabek grabs at his ankle. 

“Oddly enough, I would actually If it was manipulated right.” 

"I'd like to hear that shit."

"I'm not sure what kind of crowd would enjoy something like that, though." Otabek admits.

Otabek keeps his touch light, hovering mostly and moving his digits quick. He drags a finger up the underside of Yuri’s foot and even through socks, Yuri feels the chill in his back. An action that does plenty to the nerves that swell up in his gut. The warmth there. Yuri soon finds his body acting on its own and he’s hopping up to slide off the couch and struggle to his feet.

From around a slick grin, and his glasses falling down his face, Otabek speaks. “You're ticklish?”

He makes it to the other side of the couch with a huff. Flinging his hair out of his face. “You're sick, Altin.” 

He wants. His heart is pounding and Yuri can feel it in his chest. In him all over, the pulsing. It's exciting and forceful.

Yuri feels only slightly worried as he takes the time to climb over the backrest and into the sofa, and settles right behind Otabek. Legs crossed. The rush makes him feel just a little bold. 

“How does this one sound?” Otabek asks, his head falling back to a view of Yuri’s hair like skirting around his face and tickling his ears. “It's not particularly soul shattering, I know.”

How he's not blushing confuses Yuri enough, he doesn't mean to get so close to Otabek's face, but of course the asshole has no obvious reaction. His soft brown eyes aren't the same kind of expressive as JJ's, but Yuri can see the softest quality. Even through his lenses, through which the overhead light makes it hard to see the crevices in his irises like Yuri tries to in the moment. 

“I like this one,” Yuri says, after the time he takes to listen. He does, as much as he's capable of liking opera on short term notice and the high of company he's excited for.

"What's it about?”

“Can't you tell, Yura?” Otabek cocks his damn head and his facial features really shift so sweetly with his words that Yuri nearly bites his lips. Maybe the flush on his face just isn't as apparent.

“I don't speak Italian and this could either be sad or…”

“Romantic,” Otabek offers. He shrugs against Yuri’s knees and rolls his eyes around the room only to come back to Yuri. “It could be about unrequited love?”

“Unrequited? Did the guy find another wife?”

Yuri can see right over him and into the crease his hoodie makes over his sharp collarbones. The bob of his adam's apple stretched as he strains to stare up at Yuri. “No. He found her."

"How sweet,” Yuri says. His fingers bend off his thighs from flat palms and twist a little in the strands of Otabek's hair, the bit just above his undercut. As much as he wants to stay molded right there, fact is though, that he can't stay like this without getting exceptionally hard, he can already feel himself twitching.

"I guess it is." Otabek's hands are still on his keyboard. He presses back into Yuri's fingers.

The sanity comes back to him just as he's trying to will away the throbbing at his core.

"You're coming tomorrow, right?" Yuri asks, straightening his back and falling into the couch again. Otabek lifts his head slow and easy. He's typing again.

"Yeah, I am."

"Awesome." He clasps his hands over his face and curls his toes hard. He wants to move, kick at space and groan, but Otabek is literally a hair's length from him.

"JJ recruited me. He says you've been working really hard, so I have high expectations."

"Not high enough I bet," Yuri teases, his knee nudging into Otabek's arm. "What else does JJ say?" 

Yuri opens his palms over his face and digs into the roots of his hair. 

"What else does he say about you?" Otabek says casual, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like it's an opinion of a movie or his favorite color. Yuri's willing to bet he's not supposed to be sharing, but it's easy to accept because Yuri's not sure he even wants to know.

"As if." Yuri grunts.

The pause Otabek gives him is befitting. 

"Really, Yuri?" Otabek's look is duly exasperated because Yuri isn't that dense. More and more he likes and doesn't like that Otabek inceasingly calls him Yura and it's a great distraction until it isn't.

The song ends and oddly Yuri finally feels like he can finally breathe and not at all. It's heavy stuff.

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

Otabek slaps his laptop closed and turns on the carpet his on knees digging in. "I have a thing tomorrow, too," he starts, sifting through his plain, black backpack and pulling out a flyer he hands to Yuri between his index and his middle fingers. 

"You wanna go? It's after your thing. I may only be able to stay for you though, and not the whole thing, by the way."

Yuri nods. "That's cool, you don't have to see the whole  _ thing _ ." He emphasizes, pulling his knees up and to his chest, Yuri pulls his hair behind his ears and says "You're only supposed to be there for me anyway."

"So, JJ's going, maybe you can go with him?"

"Duh." Yuri says pointedly, Otabek's gaze shifts away at the accusation. "I'll make him drive me."

Otabek makes a wry face and crawls to his feet. He stretches and cracks his fingers as he steers for the couch. Yuri hops to arrange himself for more space, but he falls into place willingly, shoulder to shoulder with the guy.

It's silent while Yuri studies his glasses and purposely ignores Otabek's closeness. "Are you and JJ really close friends?" He asks, because it's hard to believe he's spent so much time claiming he hated JJ that it feels like he can't take it back.

Otabek nods. 

"He's softer than you think, Yuri."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Beka, you're killing my vibe.” Yuri takes the glasses, wayfarer frames between his fingers. Otabek blinks at threat of his fingers near his eye as Yuri and pulls the glasses off and puts them on himself instead

“I feel like it's appropriate,” Otabek rolls his eyes, but it doesn't have quite the impact with his squint. “You and JJ are more alike than I think you realize."

"Yuri mutters, nose turned to the air. Sitting back on his heels, he keeps his stare on Otabek's gaze. Yuri leaves his statement hanging and climbs to his feet, finding the table suitable instead. 

It's a thick wooden one, sturdy all over, so he's not gentle falling onto it.

Yuri shrugs, but oh does he now. He knows so well. “JJ's fine, he's a grown man."

“Besides the point.”

Otabek slaps his thigh, and yeah, Yuri twists off the table, with stiff limbs and a faltering mood, but he’s anything but finished. There is a strange whirl in his stomach, sinking lower and lower as he gets his feet on the floor and leans into the wood just as the edge of the table creases into his back. 

"I know." He huffs. "I already know."


	12. Fleur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day, I'm gonna formally edit this...I swear 😅 +sorry it's been so long, I was in a slump

Summer

  
  


"Oh, Yura."

Lilia pets him, her dainty skinny hands weave into the knot at the base of his scull, under which a ton of his hair is falling out of the bun because it's not long enough to mold into a bun and wrap the fuck around yet, they made it happen. Still, it holds just long enough for him to dance. He's out of breath and tired from such a long week, but keyed up just so much that neither of those things matter. 

And they won't matter when he goes on again tomorrow.

"How do you feel?" She asks, pulling the white hair tie out. They weave around the theme dancers moving toward the stage for the final leg of the show.

"Like I'm going to die?" Except, not because he's tired.

"Under that?" She prods.

"Like nothing else matters?" He says it because he thinks that's what she expects to hear. It's also what he thinks he should feel. She only smiles. It's small, but there.

Yuuri smiles at him from his spot right off stage too, hidden from the hundreds of eyes on them all. Yuri's notice is second hand, in passing as he looks for something else, but appreciated in the moment. Everything moved so quickly he didn't even have time to search for Otabek's face in the crowd.

"Turn, quickly, let me fix your hair."

He does. Falling into a chair to give her leverage because she's no longer towering him like she used to.. Her fingers serve to center him. A great reminder that it's not over. He's still got some dancing to do and even then, it's not over until the curtain closes on the last bow.

  
  


Summer

Yokav never exactly prepared him for this being bombarded like this. Granted, he's been training alongside some of the people from this very theater and a few others for the last several years. He knows how the post thing goes. Smiling and giving bullshit answers to stupid inquires was not complicated. 

But it's hard not to be brash when he feels the need to get away. As hugs are pushed onto him, the terror in his green eyes as his nose scrunches up in disgust. He does plenty of nodding and weak smiling. The first familiar and competent thing out of his mouth is:

"What the fuck?" 

Mila's ever growing hair smothers his face and falls over his own shoulders when she jumps against him. By reflex, he holds his hands out for a jump and they go straight to her waist and guide her down, like dancing.

"Oh, you were so good!" She pulls away to peck his cheeks. 

"Really!" Like a child pelted with praise by their mother.

He keeps twirling his head around by habit to see if Yakov's around because Yakov's always been around when he's danced and so it's annoying to need to remind himself that Yakov doesn't need to be directly at his side for this. Not anymore, he doesn't. He was in the audience, Yuri knows that for sure at least.

"Thanks," he mutters to her, still obscenely close to him, careless of her breast pressed into him as she's cuddled into his side and surveying the room all the same.

Victor is who he finds instead, in his stupid expensive suit and clutching Yuuri for life. Like he hasn't been dancing here for a couple years. So obviously holding back on the affection. It's Yuri's mistake to stare so long that Victor eventually notices and shortens the distance between them with direct steps.

"Yurio, you brat, I guess you were good too." He says into Yuri's ear. Eyes closed, smile beaming and snaking his hands around Yuri's waist. Yuri's ears brush Victor's ears and that's how he knows they're too close. "Don't get too comfortable though, people only expect more."

"Oh Please, like it's hard." Digging into the lapel of Victor's suit in an attempt to pry himself to freedom, his glare is quite soft considering. "Let me go, damn it!"

"And stop calling me Yurio, fuck." Though, at this point the request is as ignored as his personal space.

"Okay, okay! Victor he's going to implode, let him go." Yuuri laughs sweetly and gives him a smile so honest even his eyes curve with the rounding of his cheeks. To think that fucker probably thinks Yuri's enjoying this is maddening. 

"Congratulations, Yurio, it feels good to premier, right?".

Victor does let go. He pulls Yuuri in instead and they hug it out all over again.

He can finally breathe when Victor lets him go, setting his damming sights on Mila instead. 

"Hello, Victor!"

"Hi!" He chimes, in a way only Victor can. 

Perfect.

Yuri slips away. Backstage, in one of the dressing rooms, his backpack is tucked away. Inside, there's a change of clothes he wants to have on already when he goes to find JJ. 

Except he doesn't have to go find JJ.

There's no honest reason for Yuri to push him to a distance. They're alike enough, Yuri knows, that JJ won't ask questions or make a big deal out of anything. He's easy to fall into routine with. Why should that change now? Because Yuri's almost certain JJ's got a major soft spot for him? Because Otabek obviously knows it.

Yuri wants to embody that as best he can when he does see JJ, chatting up some other dancer as they change. His hair is gelled down, out of his face. Eyes lined with the same black that Yuri's eyes are defined with.

JJ doesn't need to know that Yuri has definitely cum thinking about his face, and nearly all the rest of him too, for Yuri to keep on like they have been.

"You," Yuri yells at him, JJ's head comes up promptly, his lips parted some. He blurts out a small "huh?" As Yuri approaches. His flats make it difficult to sound like a stomp, but he moves like such anyway. 

"You fucker, you're taking me to Otabek's thing tonight." Yuri declares. With every syllable he prods at JJ's bare chest with a single bony finger. He's hard under the tip of Yuri's index, but Yuri doesn't even try to notice. He's already gotten out of his tights and his leotard and has on regular pants not.

"I already assumed we were going together." JJ shrugs. He grins playfully and cups Yuri's hand in his and squeezes until Yuri's mouth forms an O. His knuckles crack under the pressure, and he snatches away dramatically.

"I was waiting for you to find me." JJ affirms. He snatches his hand back from the air between them when Yuri attempts to smack it.

"No, you weren't." Yuri accuses. "You never even mentioned it.

"I was. I swear. I was sure Otabek told you." Of course Otabek told him. They tell each other everything apparently. 

JJ's voice is muffled under the shirt he tugs over his head. "Besides, you're like an angry cat, and you always come back when you're ready."

JJ pinches at Yuri's sleeve, letting the fabric pull back against him. "I guess this is you being ready?" He questions.

"Oh, fuck that." Yuri tugs away. "I have to get dressed."

"Or you can just go like that!" JJ calls.

Yuri whips his head around to glare, but he doesn't flip JJ off. He forgets to do that.

  
  


Summer

  
  


"The street names here are just so long," JJ vents. He's copy and pasting the address to the club into his maps and taking his fucking time doing it. "I can still barely say some of these words."

Yuri slams his door closed harder than he intends and it earns a pained glance from JJ. He shrugs apologetically and throws his backpack in the backseat.

"How have you even made it this far?" Yuri asks, flipping down the mirror above his seat and sitting up high on one of his knees to inspect the leftover makeup. He borrowed someone else's eyeliner to touch up what he hadn't sweat off after the show. There's glitter scattered over his face from the girl it belonged to. The liner tube was covered in the stuff. 

"It's fucking amazing."

But he's not mad at it. It's a little hot, although, in a way that makes him look a little like a twink, but oh well. He's accepted that after his growth spurt left him taller but not much different otherwise.

"Lots of wrong turns, I'll tell you that." JJ says, conveniently and funnily scratching his head. After shoving the phone into a clip suctioned to the window he shift gears and gets moving.

"I could listen to the navigation in Russian now though, if it is super slowed down."

Yuri laughs. "I'm not surprised. You're a whole man child." With shoddy skills and too many needs. "A huge...fucking...baby." He slows his tone down and uses a monotone voice like JJ's navigation.

JJ grins devilishly and grips the bottom center of the wheel with one hand to reach over and wiggle his finger underneath Yuri's chin with the other. "I'll be your baby, Plisetsky-" 

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells, bent in his seat and swatting his hands at him. He side eyes JJ, regretfully piqued by his touch making him blush.

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." JJ retreats, shrugging out of Yuri's towards his own shoulder. The car swerves and bit. Yuri glares at him with an especially tight grip on his seat as he sways with the car. There are several horns honked at them following the incident.

"Put your seatbelt on, jeez, Plisetsky."

Yuri does so, annoyed and slow. JJ's not allowed to be reasonably harsh in tone to him. "Stop saying Plisetsky."

JJ gives him a bored look when Yuri cries out his laughter dramatically to his navigation voice setting. 

"So, you excited?" He asks, the car again under control. The lights back in his voice. "Beky spends a lot of time searching for fucking music, like, it's an up all night thing for him."

"I guess, I don't know what to expect." Yuri opens the camera app, and turns the view from his legs to his face. "I want to know what he thought of the show."

"You mean what he thought of you?" JJ glances over. "Because I'm sure he thought you were great, kitten. He left right after you were through."

Yuri willfully ignores him for that. He sets the phone up in the dashboard and snorts. Glancing over himself, he asks "how do you even know Otabek?"

The street lights illuminate his skin pretty nicely, especially with the sparkles. So he sets the timer and sinks down in the seat.

"From when he lived in Canada." JJ wrinkles his face at him and throws out his hand yet the fuck again when they come to a red light. "Right in Quebec with  _ moi _ ," he says.

The sideways peace sign he puts out gets captured as his nice, long finger poking at Yuri's eyes and his mouth. The red light gleams across and makes the glitter shine on Yuri's skin in a fashion he likes. The timer goes off again and this time he's smiling. JJ's finger tips poke into his skin. He realizes they haven't fucked with the radio when he grabs his phone to check the photos out.

"Aren't you so lucky." Yuri mumbles. "What'd you do? Move here together?"

"Nah, not like that." JJ tells him, but Yuri already figured as much. He expects a story after, but that's not what he gets.

"He taught me how to play a little piano and I taught him how to play the guitar." JJ informs him. "Is there anything you wish you could do?" He asks right after.

"Like, how to play a guitar?" 

"Anything, outside of dancing." JJ insists.

"Not really." JJ meets his eyes and Yuri feels like he's on the spot. Dancing's always been the be all. "I don't know. I think knowing a lot of English counts."

"Well, you wanna learn French too, I can teach you that?" 

"You don't even speak the mainland version of French." Yuri says. He punches JJ's shoulder and JJ's quick to attempt to grab his wrist in response.

"I still understand it! Really, it's really not that different. Besides, you'd know it for me, that way I can speak to you in it."

"You're asking for a lot." Yuri huffs. He settles back against his seat and twists himself around to lift his boot clad feet on JJ's dashboard. If he's got to learn French, it's not going to be Canadian french. "And you already do, without me knowing it." 

" _ C’est ben l’fonne _ ."

JJ grins at him and holds the stare for far too long to be driving and snatches his legs down promptly. Yuri just about growls at him. "Hasn't this happened already?"

The line for the club is pretty long, and moving steadily, but they don't have to wait. JJ drags him to the front of the line and chats up the bouncer, a real sturdy looking guy with a piercing in his eyebrow and an aversion to eye contact. The bouncer already knows Otabek has his own list. It's only four names long and he only IDs JJ for measure and Yuri just has to tease him for it once they get through the door.

JJ keeps a hand over Yuri's shoulder and Yuri is notably aware of it as he keeps almost holding onto the hand draped over his chest. JJ says things absently too close to his face, but it's louder in the club and it's warranted to be a little close.

Yuri busies himself looking for the DJ booth and when he finds it, Otabek's there. He's not playing, he's conversing with someone, leaning into their space and their ear while his lips move free of sound in Yuri's gaze. An actual Russian guy plays hard bass over some English lyrics in the meantime.

They post up at a rounded hightop, just before a wide set of stairs that lead to the dance floor. 

"He's gonna be on in a little bit, you want a drink?" JJ asks into his hair.

"Sure, but if you bring a fucking white Russian I'm pouring it on you."

"One white Russian's enough, honestly." Yuri groans out loud at him and offers up his fist. It's such a Victor joke.

"Be right back!" JJ might as well had mouthed with the thump of the music, Yuri only realizes that's what he says after he's gone and he stares after him thinking about it. 

"Fucker," he breathes, leaning into the table on his arms. Around him, his fingers can dig into the tattered slices cut into his shirt, so that's what he does. Grazes at his own skin and traces his ribs with his nails. He's strangely excited and it makes him rock on his heels without notice, bending into his weight against the table.

Otabek's holding a pink drink, something fruity probably, and the glass is still full, especially around the ice. Even after Yuri watches him sip it and stir his straw around like he's interested.

He's in that hoodie front the day before, with the high collar and the white rectangular outline printed around the torso. Yuri squints when he notices, and he still can't say for sure, but it looks like he's got on eyeliner. There's a single earring hanging on his left side and it's long and pointed at the end. Like a fucking claw.

Yuri smiles to himself and looks around for that damn JJ. Otabek's barely real, but JJ is a grounding presence.

It's not packed in the club yet by far, but there is a long ass line outside so Yuri imagines it won't be long until the mildly comfortable air turns heated and unfortunately scented. 

JJ got four glasses when he returns. In both hands, between his thumb, index and middle are two highball glasses and pressed into the side between his ring and pinky are shot glasses.

"You Russians like Vodka, right?" He scrunches up his face and nods to himself. He thinks he's so damn funny. Yuri rolls his eyes.

"You're so culturally aware. Thank you." Yuri mocks.

"Yeah, well, these are tequila. Sorry." He winks. Yuri kicks his ankle under the table.

JJ buckles a little and opens his mouth to an O. It's hardly strong enough to hurt him. "These legs cost money, kitten."

"What is this?" Yuri asks, bringing one of the highballs to his lips and sucking up the liquid before JJ even opens his mouth to respond. He even knows what it is before JJ can respond.

"Kompot and vodka." JJ tells him. It's sweet, but the drink goes down with an alcoholic tingle. He twists his lips and JJ laughs at him for it, but he keeps going. Tomorrow he'll be back on stage so he shouldn't get wasted or be reckless. But Victor says reckless can be fun and this particular atmosphere is damn encouraging, if a little annoying.

He's hurt all over, JJ probably is too, but it's no new sensation to be dead tired and functioning by certain will.

Yuri eyes JJ, taking his turn to eye Otabek. 

"Yuri," JJ laughs, moving into brush shoulders and lean into him so comfortably. "I promise you Bek's drinking juice right now."

Yuri laughs at that too.

His phone buzzes against his ass and Yuri reaches for it, JJ blatantly watches the screen with him. Yuri doesn't care enough to bitch at him for it. He slurps up the last of his drink and shoves the glass out of the way.

**Where'd you go, you blond flake?** Mila asks and also insults.

JJ  _ tsks _ him. "Mila's cute." He mumbles around his straw. Yuri glares at his screen, but it's meant for JJ. 

**a fucking club** Yuri sends back.

He opens the camera and holds it up to the DJ booth. He zooms in on Otabek's face and takes the shot in spite of JJ eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and  _ oohing _ . The message he wants to send and the one she may send back, can't be typed with JJ's hawk eyed ass stare either.

"Move it." Yuri grumbles, his elbow out and forcing JJ off. He stumbles away exaggerated and feigned painful groans around his straw. 

**He's a DJ too,** Yuri tells her.

"Are you sending pictures of Otabek to Mila?" JJ lays his fake scandalized tone on thick and wiggles his brows at Yuri. "Look who's  _ gossiping  _ now."

"You jealous, Leroy?" Yuri taunts. He presses his phone to his thigh to hide the screen while he pokes his index into JJ's hair and pressing at his temple.

Hand over his heart, JJ blinks at him several times with his face full of pretend shock. He's enjoying this and Yuri's letting him. "Honestly? Yes. Yes, I am." 

**OMG** She says, it's complemented by a gif.

"Well, Mila says you have nice teeth, so there's that."

"That's it?" Jj stresses. "The one thing I had cosmetically enhanced?"

**hard-jaw-probably-has-a-big-dick guy?!** She adds.

Yuri fucking giggles, the sound pour out of him through his teeth, bare between a lopsideds smile. And then he hates himself for it because he doesn't like reading that message, and the amusement comes at JJ's expense. He picks his head up for a glance at JJ, staring pointedly and wide eyed at Yuri. He tosses his head in a way and Yuri follows the way his eyes dash. Otabek's at the DJ booth and Yuri's shoving his phone back into his pants in time to settling next to JJ again.

JJ picks up his shot and gestures for Yuri to do the same. 

"Here's to Altin," He says. Yuri downs his poison first. 

The music stutters, the hard bass slows and the crowd that's slowly been forming around them cheers at the change. JJ and Yuri join in on a whim. JJ already admitted to seeing him enough, but Yuri's never been to a fucking club before now and it's nice that he's got a nice fucking reason outside of getting trashed and dancing. 

Not that the idea of getting trashed and dancing doesn't sound appealing after that shot, but it's never exactly been a desire of his. 

In the way the strobe lights rocket passed in a coordinated order, across the room like a grid, his finds the interest. Going awry as they quicken with the building of whatever Otabek's about to do with sound. The bass is loud, hard, getting faster and Yuri can practically feel it from his toes to the ends of his hair.

Knowing Otabek, outside of the visual of who is his right now with his headphones askew and the bounce in his stance, makes this feel a hell of a lot more thrilling. Yuri can't help grinning wildly at the sight of him. It's horrible. And all because he's absurdly proud of Otabek being good at this for some reason.

"You want another drink?" Yuri asks JJ, eyes trained on Otabek still. It's a feeling he's willing to preserve.

A heavy crowd has finally formed, one that he'll have to weave through to get to the bar. It's hot now too. A light layer of sheen settles over his skin and makes his sparkling face shine bright exactly how he means it to.

"Sure," JJ doesn't manage to tear his eyes off Otabek either.

  
  


Summer

  
  


" _ For all of these simple things, and much more, a flower was born _ ." JJ sings. To Yuri's ears it's complete euphony against the carnage eating at him from within. It takes all the energy from his limbs and the will to think from his mind.

With his head hung slackly over the bench, JJ keeps his arms down his side. His hands, tucked toward his middle to leisurely twirl his fingers in Yuri's hair. The action is tormenting, because all Yuri wants to do is close his eyes, and yet, that makes it all worse. The darkness brings the carnage to a head and then his throat burns, threatening to spill it all. 

JJ's thigh is firm from dance, but soft enough to the touch that Yuri would sleep if he could. If the summer air wasn't stifling and his head wasn't pounding.

_ "It blooms to spread love and joy, faith and hope to people forlorn," _ JJ sings, his voice shallowing out to a hum.

Yuri takes Otabek in, in his disenchanted bubble at the other end of the bench. Apathetic in combing his nails through the hair that spill over his forehead, unworried about Yuri's legs bent over his and rested over the arm of the bench.

He meets Yuri's eyes with that same stare. His irises are wide and lively. He maintains the look, pulling something out of his pocket and setting it between his lips.

It's a fucking cigarette and Otabek holds it there for a second. 

"Are you for real right now?" Yuri asks. JJ's head comes up, Yuri can feel the way his thigh flexes as he adjusts himself. His fingers stop for a second, and come to quicker, closer to the scalp.

"He does that after every show." JJ says. He grazes through Yuri's hair all the way to his ears and back down to the ends, peering down at him as he speaks. "Every one."

Otabek turns his head, a hand cupped over his cigarette and lighting it against the wind.

"I'll move if you want." He says, lifting his head back and blowing the air to the sky. It just dissipates in the branches and leaves above them, a lackluster end to the sight of him. 

The small communal garden is complete with Christmas lights and dead end gravel laid paths that lead to more foliage and bushes, or benches, like the one they make home on while Yuri overcomes the need to retch. JJ's lucky to avoid the feeling.

"No." Yuri bounces his feet on the arm and his knees bob in Otabek's face. "Stay here." 

"Okay, so why smoke?" He asks, flashing a look up to JJ, who grins down at him and shrugs in Otabek's place. This is a dangerous area, feeling how he feels and lying here like this. Luckily, he's drunk enough, on more than alcohol, to ignore the care in JJ's finger tips and focus solely on the calming experience JJ makes for him.

"Nerves." Otabek says. He turns away to blow the excess smoke. It comes out of his nose after the fact. "Ritual?" He says after a breath. 

JJ and Yuri look on while he thinks.

Head up, nose to the sky. Otabek sighs, loudly, and slouches, as if exhaling takes pieces of him with it. "It's just a lot."

"Too much emphasis on your existential dread?" JJ suggests. He snickers and it prompts an elbow to the ribs from Yuri. "He's just an introvert or something. This is him disassociating, I think."

"Funny." Otabek nods at him. "You know me so well." 

He brushes his free hand over Yuri's legs, the light denim molds to Yuri's form under his touch. He takes hold of him and bends Yuri back up to JJ.

Yuri's head falls into the space between his thighs and JJ's quick to close them. To catch him. His hair caught under and between.

_ "Inside every man lives the seed of a flower."  _ He gets back to singing. His head goes back, Yuri's skin tingles where his nails graze. His fingers have a soothing rhythm to them, like the sounds from his mouth.

Yuri has a show in 16 hours. He has to be at the theater well before then. 

JJ writes his feelings into Yuri's skin and Otabek is just a bit more confusing.

There a layer of sweat over him that his body drives out of his pores each time he holds his breath a second to long, or inhales a little too much of Otabek's cigarette.

"Let me try?" He asks, kicking a burgundy boot into Otabek's hamstring. Once. Twice. Otabek stands strong against the force of him. Dropping a hand around to grip Yuri's ankle.

"One fucking puff." He pleads.

"No," Otabek answers flatly. He lets Yuri's leg free. "You don't need this."

_ "If he looks within he finds beauty and power."  _ JJ sounds so happy with things the way he prolongs that  _ wer  _ portion of power.

Yuri's pout is unintentional, but Otabek shakes his head at him and ignores his silent questioning. His face is flush at the tornado that ravages his belly and steals the will to support his own weight, but Otabek paints it a little deeper.

"You don't want that, kitten, it's disgusting." JJ adds. "You already look like you could up chuck at any moment."

"Whatever fucking happened to autonomy?" Yuri huffs and pops out of JJ's lap. "Oh well, I was gonna tell that you were fucking awesome." 

He shrugs. "Now, I guess you're just okay."

Otabek smiles, Yuri can see his teeth -a canine and a few incisors- but he turns away too quickly for either of them see it play out and disappear across his face. The cigarettes flies out of his hand from between his ring and middle fingers. He crushes it beneath his foot. Not even half gone.

JJ's hands go still and Otabek looks at him. They share the contact for a while, but Yuri's can't make anything of it. Both of them look at Yuri and he's suddenly a sponge, soaking in the tension from center.

"We should go," JJ announces. "I'll drop you home." 

The mid-August air doesn't give much in terms of a breeze, but Yuri's been hoping for a good one anyway. Of course, it never comes. He tries counting the stars and twisting to dislodge himself from the sandwich the three of them make. His hands are over them, holding onto them, but he's not all there. He's split between them both. His efforts are wasted. 

JJ must realize how stuffy the warmth feels. He promises to turn on the air conditioning for him when they get to the car. 

Otabek on one side, JJ on the other. Otabek's arm layered over his shoulder and JJ's around his waist. He's doesn't need this, but it's nice. For all he could make of it in the moment, it's nice. When he's back home, and thrown over one of Yakov's makeshift office chairs, he wonders whether he'd feel more complete on their couch.

  
  
  


Summer

  
  


Dancing through the fatigue isn't as difficult as he imagined it would be when his eyes snapped open that afternoon. 

The pain he feels all over is of an addictive variety. Laced with excitement and a fulfilling feeling.

It's a miserable situation nonetheless. One that makes him wish he'd gotten some actual sleep and not the exhaust induced physical malfunction his body seemed to go through instead.

He wouldn't undo last night in favor of not having to crouch over a toilet after the show. To vomit up everything and his will power. When it's all over, and there's no more dancing to be done for now, he feels somewhat pathetic. Like it invalidates his success in the show thus far. Like everyone can see the exhaustion on him. The regret is the only thing lacking really. 

The applause says otherwise when he bows. The heightening of the audience's collective voice when he steps forward is like a breath he can finally take. Not every eye is on him, there's plenty of dancers on stage at his side, but Yuri can see their spotted gazes. Those who smile hugely at him and clap with fervor throughout the audience.

"Someone's had a long night." 

Yuri shivers at the feeling of eyes on his neck. He doesn't need to lift his face out of his hands to know who it is. He leans up in his chair, strengthens himself, tenses his muscles and prepares to be invaded. The rest of the dressing room might as well be empty.

"You're a menace, Vitya."

"I didn't think you'd run with the recklessness, but lo and behold." Victor presses a hand to his back, Yuri can feel each individual finger as he spreads them out across Yuri's spine. He's the word of the devil on Yuri's shoulder, masquerading as an angel. 

Yuri parts his hands a bit, looking down past his palms to see Victor's expensive loafers as he closes in. He plants his free hand on the table beside Yuri, and leans over him until Yuri is engulfed by his cologne.

People really love speaking into his ears like that, with their lips at his hair and their breath over him. Too close for comfort.

"Doesn't it feel good, Yura?"

Yuri looks at him and for once it feels like Victor is looking at him, even if it is just to point out that he can tell Yuri's been less than good recently.


End file.
